FF6-The Divine's Embrace
by Frozen Aura
Summary: Sequel to The Balance and Contrast of Yin and Yang. The Returners have sampled but a taste of the Darwinistic Nyufalng, but are their new opponents totally unfamiliar after all? And what is the 'Divine? Social revolution, natural disasters, and scientific anomalies may interweave in a chaotic mix beyond all control...
1. The New Face of Carnage

**Chapter 1: The New Face of Carnage**

We'd gathered in the Falcon's pub, most of us at least. The official inquiry wasn't until this evening, but Leonard was anxious to tell his tale. Though it was still in the dock's repair yard, Setzer's airship was private property, totally off limits to the general public, unlike various parts of my castle.

Cyan was absent, attending to military business, some it pertaining to the upcoming inquiry. Paul and Ziegfried had also skipped out. They were both recovering from injuries they received while saving our new friend from even newer enemies. The room consisted of Locke, Relm, Celes, Terra, Gau, Setzer, Leonard, my brother, and I. Gau's left had was bandaged. Despite wielding a shield, something struck his defense with so much force the protection was negated, and the youth got a few bone fractures. Locke's cheek was bandaged, the result of another battle wound.

The one person I thought would be drained more than anybody was Leonard. He'd been missing for almost two weeks straight, with much of that time spent in a dark, cold jail cell eating minimal rations. But he endured, with a little help. It was evening by the time we returned from the spontaneous rescue mission in the Cradhawch Plateau of Albrooker soil. A full meal at the castle did him wonders, as did a nice hot bath.

I also suggested he go home for a good night sleep, and he agreed, but objected to the first part. For some reason, he Narshean refused to go back to his place, yet was too tired to explain why at that point. I offered him a guestroom at the castle, but Locke was adamant that Leonard sleep elsewhere. I kind of knew why, but neither of us said anything. The Narshean was happy to spend the night with Locke and Celes in Quildren.

Earlier in the day, Leonard filled out some notes that summarized his experience behind the new enemy lines. I reviewed them, and was now going to clarify each aspect of his experience. We needed every detail we could get on this new opposition. "Okay Leonard. Here are the basics." The room was silent. Most eyes were on me, though Setzer was at the sink behind the bar counter. "There's a nation called Jari…Jorus…Jrysthovuh." I finally got right. "And your captors, this 'Nyufalng' organization,' originally hail from that country."

Leonard reclined at circular table with Terra beside him. "Originally yes, but their membership now includes Albrookers, Tzenish, and Marandans."

I flipped a page in Leonard's scribble text. Talk of the southern continent's three city-states brought up more questions. "So, if they were initially a Jrysthovuhn movement, why did they declare war on the leaders of the lower continent?"

"From what I heard, they didn't like any of them, so they took em' out." Leonard shrugged. "Makes sense, right?"

"Perhaps," answered Celes from another table. "But you'd think anyone who took out _three_ established political entities would lay claim to the defeated parties' land." She downed some ale. "According to your story, this group did not such thing. They took Albrook, but left Tzen and Maranda to rebuild on their own."

Locke massaged his cheek bandage. "And that's without considering the victory over three said governments." His voice was edgier than usual. Such feelings were expected. Anyone who could neutralize three established governments like so meant business, and was not to be taken lightly. This new enemy employed a dangerous combination of brains and brutality that I'd never seen before. Even before its apex, Gestahl's empire had no equal, and Kefka was just pure hate with no strategic elements. According to Loenard's discoveries, the House of Sireck and Edrina from Albrook, the pro-Gestahl House Virnone of Tzen, and Maranda's psychopathic Duke Sindreo Geminsa had all been destroyed in less than a year's time by this Nyufalng, a foreign organization seeking no imperializing of its own. Such ambition was an expected cause for such a daring feat.

"So, if empire-building is not their objective, what is?" I asked Leonard. "Surely they spoke to you about this."

His fingers drummed the tabletop. "Well, they seek to remove 'bossy control freaks' from government power. That could imply numerous objectives."

"Okay." Relm leaned forward in her seat. "So they want anarchy and mayhem. That's just dandy. But…why kidnap you? You're not much a politician with social influence."

Leonard's face took a dark look, reflecting his deep, stale voice tone. "They kidnapped me because of my father. They know what he did, and they didn't want so-called 'schemers' like myself roaming free."

A moment of quietude filled the bar, until Terra shattered it. "DAMN THEM!" She stood forcefully, slamming her cup down on the table surface, wine splashing over the mug's rim. "Can't they leave the past behind? It's bad enough Arvis and the Narshean militia didn't lift a finger while you were missing. But kidnapping you because of your father…" she didn't finish."

Leonard took her hand, and the half-esper woman took a seat once more. Her outburst made sense, given her past reactions to such unwarranted hostility. Leonard though, took it in stride somehow. "Well, given their lust for blood, I'm hardly surprised. Zealots love overkill. They also mentioned something divine, 'the divine' to be exact."

Locke scratched his chin. "And what's that supposed to be?"

"Hell if I know. I had to blend in. If I asked, I would've blown my cover." The Narshean shrugged. "It was common knowledge among them."

"It's blabber," Locke snorted. "They're talking from their ass cracks, like zealots typically do. Locking you in a jail cell because your father, who's been dead about four years now, is hardly normal behavior. Don't read so deeply into their shit."

It was temping to embrace Locke perspective, and blow off the Nyufalng's vague manifesto as deranged hoo-hah. Unfortunately, the little we know about this fierce paramilitary organization demanded that we learn everything possible. Leonard implied I was their next target.

For now, their motivations would remain a mystery. There was plenty more food for discussion along their other facets. "Regardless of their goals and motives, or lack thereof," I acknowledged Locke with eye contact "they're formidable. Throwing those fireballs with bare hands proves this. So I ask, what are their…capabilities? Are all of them like that, from what you saw?"

Leonard gazed at the tavern ceiling, blinking repeatedly. His head was likely spinning, as he was thinking about stuff he'd much rather forget. But he understood the necessity of my questions. "Truth be told, I'm not sure. Maybe every Nyufalng trooper has some kind of…monster part, but it's not a piece of Jrysthovuhn anatomy. They get such parts from a bloody process, literally."

He inhaled, drank some water, and explained this gory measure. "They took some captured troops from the Duke's army, troops rendered comatose but alive. The unconscious were hung from suspended chains and cut open along their necks, stomach, palms, feet, anything that would drain blood to the maximum. Then, they used some kind of 'energy' in the spilled blood to generate monster body parts for their own wounded soldiers."

Everyone made nasty faces, including myself. "Sickening, yet practical, for their end," Celes noted. "How'd you learn this? Did they drain enemies' blood openly in the town square?"

"I wouldn't put such past them," Leonard said "But no. They did it in some domed-top stricture in the Falpuryn hills east of Albrook. While disguised, I was asked to help move comatose bodies to the dome building. They showed me how to place the bodies in the chains for maximum blood drainage." His face contorted, as if he was about to vomit. "Maybe they had such in store for me, had I fallen unconscious as they planned. Can we move on to other stuff, if you don't mind?"

"Surely." I'd pretty much exhausted that route for now, given Leonard's attitude, and there was another aspect of the Nyufalng that required curiosity. "In your radio message, you warned us about beings with jewels in their heads. I must say, your warning was true to the letter."

"I'll say." Locke folded his arms. "I was instantly reminded of the eight elemental dragons unleashed by Kefka four years back, except the dragons were mentally animals. They didn't taunt us with shitty jokes."

"You're telling me," agreed Leonard. "And you've only had one encounter with 'em. I was around the fuckers days on end." His voice grew sharper. "That husky, orange skinned man with mismatched eyes, spike in his hands, and a forehead ruby was my primary jailor. He'd stop in, throw me table scraps, insult me, and leave. The last time he came in, he threw me a blanket that smelled. Having mined chemicals in that past, I knew it was ether, and I knew then my time was almost up. Happily, the next visitor was a different man, who wore a mask. I jumped him…and you know the rest."

"So tell me about this orange skinned man, the one who nearly cut you to shreds, until me and my trust crossbow saved the day." I'd shot the strange humanoid with four to five arrows, and he was still alive despite the resulting wounds. "He's got a ruby gem in his forehead, so he's one of those…dangers."

"His name is Baokiydu. It's a Jrysthovuhn name I presume, and his rank is a 'Sensorian'. It refers to his abilities of highly enhanced senses. He can also channel his body heat outward and multiply it to intense levels, comparable to gas fires or lava flows. I was told this by locals while disguised. I figured the info would prove useful."

"What bout that four-legged…_thing_ that broke Gau's hand with a tree truck and almost crushed Terra and I in some mini-black hole…_technique?_" Sabin cringed. "There was an emerald in the creature's forehead."

Leonard cleared his throat. "Ah, you've met Qaurjaeda the 'Grav-wielder' with a forehead emerald. His class title is fitting, as you already experienced. He can distort gravity in various ways, making it super strong or so minimal he can practically air-walk. And he can also absorb gravitational energy into himself, boosting his strength to abnormal levels."

"Right. He swung the damned tree like it was toothpick." Sabin looked at Gau, who grunted while regarding his bandaged hand. "Only my own strength could match his, until he used that gravity well. But those specialized bio-bombs turned the tide." He glanced at Gau again. "Nice aim soldier, even if the freak survived. You fired around us, not over us, not risking collateral damage. Great job on your first mission."

"Don't forget that nasty bitch with silver flesh and slime that could rust our weapons," growled Celes in disgust. "That damned bitch called me 'General Chere' after slapping Locke with an elasticized goop strand. She had an amethyst jewel in her forehead."

"Might I introduce to you Sdalsyra, the Corrodess," announced Leonard. "Her powers are those fluids, be they adhesives, slippery goops, elastics, or acidic blobs."

"Fitting powers for one such a bad attitude." Celes frowned. "I gave her a fitting Shock attack, but I don't think it's the last we'll see of her."

It was my turn to share. "And I had my own clash with that man in strange garb, the short sleeved top covering a plate mail cuirass, a decorated belt, and a blue sapphire jewel. He used some blurry, transparent objects to fight, and his irreverence was just as menacing. He ridiculed my noble heritage. Sadly, with abilities like his, he'd maybe _earned_ that right. My dragoon skills took him down, but I know he'll be back for more. Leonard?"

My glance prompted him. "Meet Dyal'xern, the Air-smasher. As you saw, and likely felt, he can distort and even create air for attack and defense techniques, shaping air masses to his liking. His can also make 'platforms' beneath himself and hover."

"You said there were five. You've only named four," Terra pointed out. "Who's the last one?"

"That giant horned crocodile with the black jewel. He's named Chithagu. Happily, he's not as smart at the other four." The Narshean smiled lightly. "But he's much smarter than your typical animal. I'm not sure of his exact talents. He spit some organism at me, which discharged foul gas. I presume he boasts the usual teeth, claws, and whipping tale. I hit him with a blitz to escape. And no, that won't keep him down."

We'd all confirmed it in our own words. These jewel possessors survived what would've killed a normal person many times over. Even the Nyufalng grunts and mounts had their limits. Our blitzes, sword techs, dragoon skills, and weapon technology did their job against the bulk of the opposition. What made these five particular beings so special? There were only five, but could they alone become a five-piece army? I wouldn't write off such possibilities. "Okay, what are they? Were they born like such? Will there be any more? Surely they possess some kind of rank for issuing commands."

"Actually no." A hint of relief colored Leonard's voice. He took another drink. "Think of them as super soldiers, immense abilities but no authority. And like those fireball throwers, they were initially humans, sans Chithagu, who was a simple beast. As you probably guessed already, their forehead jewels elevate them above their peers. From my discussion, they can't make anymore jewels…yet. Five is enough." He paused, and we all agreed with that last part. "That 'blood energy' also fuels their powers. They drink blood to feed their so-called 'essences'. Amongst their group, they're known by a Jrysthovuhn term. Pung Thoshidai, or Pung Thoshidei in the singular."

"You don't say!" Sabin's face lit up. "What a fitting term. And to think such beings only existed in legends. Though as they say, legends are often exaggerated facts."

"Whoa. Hold up." Celes raised her hands. "Are you also claiming to know stuff about this hidden country, where our new enemies originated?"

After saving Leonard and leaving Albrook's dominion, Leonard pulled my brother aside for a little talk. Maybe Sabin knew about Jrysthovuh after all, and Leonard was chatting on that very subject. I faced my brother. "Okay, I'll presume you're not fully ignorant of this culture. Explain the legends of these…Pung thingies."

Leonard gave Sabin a gesture. The spotlight was now on my little brother. "Alright. Pung Thoshidai are beings from Jrysthovuhn myth. It's said they bear energies in their souls and bodies, energies connected to nature itself. That would explain why those jewel bearers are so powerful, and why the jewels grant them such formidable talents."

"You know quite a bit." Terra shifted in her chair. "How exactly did you learn this?"

"I am a blitz master, if you didn't already know." Sabin laughed. "Master Duncan had a few peers, and I met them a couple times. They told stories of a far away land, home to the world's greatest martial arts masters. Details were sketchy, but many sources agreed that this nation was Jrysthovuh. Some of its people had left their homeland and traveled the world, sharing their martial skills with those fortunate enough to cross their paths. Maybe Duncan met up with such people."

"I see." It made sense for my brother to know a little about this nation, being a career blitz master. Leonard's knowledge was something else. I asked the Narshean, "How did you discover this place?"

"Unexpectedly. I was at the library one day, skimming through foreign books, and found one on the table. Its artwork caught my attention, and I was intrigued right there. I searched the local book stores for a copy, and found only one. After my ordeal behind enemy lines though, I'm not sure how accurate the book really is."

"It's something, better than nothing." I skimmed Leonard's note cards. There was no reference to any tome about this foreign country, which was getting more crucial by the minute. To learn the Nyufalng's big secrets, we'd have to understand their place of origin. "Bring me that book, when you can."

"Surely." Leonard drank more water.

"What about Ultros and Chupon?" asked Setzer while cleaning mugs at the sink. "This ship's been grounded here for the last eight months because to them, and they tried sabotaging the cargo ship while you tangled with the bad guys. Were they by chance working for this…Nyufalng?"

"Really?" Locke glanced over his shoulder at the gambler. "We know little of this enemy, but enough to spell out their expertise. Those Nyufalng wouldn't employ such dipshit screw-ups. Those two have despised us for years, and when they saw an opportunity, they took it. Kudos for stopping them the second time around."

"Yeah." Setzer placed the mugs in a cupboard behind the counter. "They won't piss me off anymore."

"What now Edgar?" Relm adjusted her pink bandana. "Leonard said the new bad guys will come for you, since they've destroyed the powers down south. You must have a plan."

I ingested her words, bringing forth an act from the deeper reaches of my memory. Before the Shedairah killings and the looming drought within my city came to light, I was asked by Albrook's House to provide weapons, so they could deal with local armed gangs disrupting the peace. It was obvious now, those nameless gangs had been the Nyufalng, and if they knew I'd sent weapons to their enemies, they'd hold a very spiteful grudge, sparing no effort in retaliatory strikes.

But did they know I'd sent the weapons? Would that matter, given their vague intents? Leonard suggested they didn't like powerful governments of any mindset, and Figaro was the world leader of science and technology. Anarchists would target such a nation.

All this assumed there was rhyme and reason to the Nyufalng manifesto. Maybe Locke was correct in suggesting there was not. I had to connect the few puzzle pieces we had. "Leonard, you said these Pung Thoshidai are not in charge of the organization. Do you have any idea who is? Did you learn of any important military officers or figureheads in your time down south?"

"I didn't learn of any military commanders," he admitted. "But I can give you three more names of note. The founder and leader of the Nyufalng is Ruqojjen Kagasjori, a High Shenthaxa. Whatever that is, he's got a title of great importance. The co-founder and second-in-command is a woman named Yithadri Juyolahriss, an Honored Shamaness. Again, I don't know the details, but she's in a position of significance."

All eyes in the room were on Sabin. "A militarized politician and a bigwig in spiritual studies," he explained. "I can't recall anything else about those rank titles, but Leonard's right. They're elite positions."

"That's two more names. Who's the third one?" asked Terra.

Leonard sighed. "Probably the youngest, but certainly not the most harmless of the Nyufalng. That teenage girl riding atop Chithagu. Her name's Ajalni Voldruine. She's like the creature's mistress, and he's her battle pet. She's nasty by herself though, with this tongue that does all kinds of crazy shit. It extends, can sprout talons, or snag and electrocute a person to death. I cut off the tip, but she's likely grown it back already."

"Teen soldiers." Celes's voice was ragged. I understood why. She was around that age when Gestahl promoted her to a commander status in his army. At sixteen, she led the assault that instantly defeated Maranda's Emperor Turianse Montrino and pulled Maranda into Gestahl's hands. Learning how the Nyufalng used teen girls in their own death squads sent the ex-magitek general a gruesome reminder of her own past. Her hatred of the new enemy had multiplied, and she'd known them for all of a single day.

"Like I said, they're a bunch of fuckin' zealot shits." Locke placed a hand on her tightened fist. "What would you expect from such a group?"

"And they want me bleeding to death, just because I didn't kill my father in some act of vigilante justice years back. Damned cock-sucking Nyu-FUCKS." Leonard cussed out the enemy with his own verbal epithet.

Irrational zealots or not, the new foes were out there, planning their next campaign, one against my kingdom. But they hadn't attacked yet. They'd only just concluded their war against Duke Sindreo and his followers the previous day, during which Leonard used their diminished presence in Albrook to escape. When they caught up with him, they were drained from the last battle with Sindreo's army, and (with some difficulties) we sent them home with additional wounds. They were surely planning their next decisive act however.

And, they'd already acted against us in a very real way, which ultimately led to yesterday's clash. I had to press this matter. "Leonard, last question. What do you recall about your kidnapping?"

"I figured you'd ask." He sighed, recalling the grim experience. "I was about to hit the sack, when I heard noises in my backyard. Being the so-called 'betrayer's offspring', I knew if I messaged local militia troops, they'd think I was reporting a prank of my own. Instead, I went to investigate for myself. I yelled, and the noises continued. As I rounded the house corner, a raccoon dashed across my back lawn and jumped the fence. I questioned if it was running from me, or from…well it ran from someone else, someone who came at me from behind with a needle that put me under. Then, I awoke in the dark cell."

"Right from your own backyard?" Terra's eyes went wide. "So that's why you didn't go home last night."

He answered my lingering question. "Yeah, whoever drugged me knew where I lived, and made some noise to draw me out, knowing I couldn't complain to authorities." He drank another sip. "My reputation as the son of Narshe's treacherous war profiteer is infamous. If Jrysthovuhn people travelled the world as rumors claim, it's not far-fetched they'd learn of my father's notoriety. But…" He stumbled on his words.

"But finding your exact place of residence is something else." Locke rolled his eyes, completing the sentence. "Someone learned you resided up in Narshe, and stalked you."

"All while they were busy down south." Celes ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass. "Talk about multitasking. If they learned of you father's rep overseas, you think they'd send a scout to find the next of Gurosawn kin. It would make sense, but how'd they know you were living in Narshe? Sending an operative to seek you out feels like a long shot. I can guess the Nyufalng are too savvy for acting on such unlikely finds. I won't presume they just got lucky."

"Well, if they planned on bringing their war up here, they might've sent a person to scan this town and the mining city, prepping in advance," suggested my brother. "Maybe they got lucky in discovering Leonard was a Narshean resident. Locals like Arvis know you're amidst them." He glanced at Leonard. "And they'd speak of your unpopularity, cluing in the mole."

"But how did they find me?" Leonard's voice was ragged with frustration. "I don't keep a high public profile, for that very reason. I collect my work earnings at the farm in person, I don't subscribe to the newspaper, and I use a post office box under a pseudonym, paying all my bills and whatnot like so. My bank account's also registered to that alias."

Silence filled the tavern. This question lacked that crucial answer for the moment. "Well we know this much. Someone from the Nyufalng was in our midst, sedating you and taking you back to their stronghold down in Albrook." Terra reached for Leonard's hand, an effort to console the despondent man.

"And that's making a huge assumption," declared Locke. "You're assuming Leonard's captor left our turf after the abduction, instead of passing him to another operative halfway, likely in some remote location when an Albrook-bound airship or boat would go unseen. If the Nyufalng plan on striking us next, this mystery mole could've remained up here, pursuing his or her recon op. Maybe, the mole's not gone home yet."

"But we know about this group now." Celes leaned back. "And the enemy surely expected Leonard to tell his tale, as he just did. In any case, they'd update this 'mole' about his escape and our daring rescue. Would the mole risk exposure by sticking around?"

"Perhaps not. But if he or she dropped from sight following our rescue, their secret could get out. They might stay awhile, to act like they've nothing to hide and continue spying." Locke glanced at the Narshean. "And make another attempt on you, this time on your life."

"I figured as much," mumbled Leonard. "Swell huh? I'm not even safe in my own home, keeping a low profile. Mind if I crash at your place again?"

"Not at all." Locke smiled, if lightly. "I was about to offer that."

Presuming the Narshean would do such again, I expounded the idea. "You'd better get some essentials from your place at least, like that book you mentioned. I'll send an escort with you."

"Of course you would." The Narshean laughed, relaxing some. "If you have no more questions, I'd best be off. I still have my farm job, right?"

I nodded. "Yes. In fact, I first learned of you disappearance when a dairy foreman stopped by the castle, informing me that you'd missed two days of work with no explanation. Check in with the farm. They've been worried."

"Right." Leonard passed his drinking cup to Setzer. "I'll see you all this evening."

_change in s_

The day passed without any major happenings after that. Leonard gave his official inquiry, repeating his finds in the conference room of my castle. Rodney Hayne and some Figaroan troops accompanied him to his place in Narshe, where he gathered his essentials and left. The Narshean spent another night at Locke and Celes's place, returning to the farm for work the next day.

We had to learn about Jrysthovuh, as much as we could, as quickly as possible. For all we knew, this exotic nation was declaring war on outsiders, with the Nyufalng as its primary weapon.

In truth, I didn't mourn any of the southern governments. I always had doubts of supplying Sireck and Edrina with weaponry, even if I didn't know them very well. More so, Tzen's House Virnone wasn't anything benevolent, being Imperial loyalists as they were. And Marandan Duke Sindreo Geminsa was likely so deranged in his egocentric delusions of supremacy, the only person to oust him was Kefka Palazzo. I'd be hard pressed to choose a side between the Duke and the House. Happily, House Virnone was too small to expand over seas like their Imperial forefathers, and the Duke was too irrational and disorganized to effectively run an empire.

But they were not passive pushovers, and they along with Albrook's Sireck and Edrina had been vanquished by Jrysthovuh's Nyufalng. The Duke was easily an exception, but the Houses of Tzen and Albrook were functional as governments, albeit questionable, oppressive ones. Anarchy was not their goal.

And by supplying Albrook, I'd gotten on the Nyufalng's bad side, something done with minimal effort, as Leonard had also done it by not killing his own father years ago. Their reasoning was as vague as their motivations. They took down three governments, only replacing one, and only on a local scale. There was no sense in that lack of conquest, just as there was no logic in their grudge against Leonard's civility from years back.

A new problem had arisen, and there were still two others consuming my efforts. The monster hunts around local caves and wilderness regions turned up nothing. For now, the super beasts were elsewhere. Until they resurfaced in my domain, I'd lay off hunting them, for now. Umaro was still missing, but seeking him out proved just as futile. I could not waste my resources with scanning ops at this time.

At least one issue was approaching its conclusion. The new plumbing of my capital was in its final ten percent. Yes, some people had become skeptical, and quarrels had even broken out regarding my integrity. Others had left town, fed up with my slow progress and increasing monetary conditions. Still, I had unquestioning loyalists, uncomfortable as I felt with such blind loyalty. Brashness aside, they paid their taxes and defended my character. In short, this plumbing matter would conclude, offering Figaro City an enhanced waterworks system. Maybe that would re-instill confidence in those who doubted me, and bring back those who'd left.

Regardless, matters of the Nyufalng were something else. Until I learned something about their obscure origins, I couldn't make any meaningful decisions.

But I could easily take steps in that direction. An hour before dinner, Charise fetched me from the castle's basement workshop. While I'd been preoccupied with plumbing reports during the day, Leonard had dropped in, leaving a certain valued object with my wife. She told me it was on my pillow in the bedroom. With sometime before the next meal, I left the basement and rushed upstairs, anticipating the find.

And there it was, the size of the average textbook. Though age had worn some of its outer covering, all its pages were intact, with its images and text completely legible. I picked up the tome, studying its title with much enthusiasm.

The Ts'aosra'iy: Archives of the Jrysthovuhn Territory.

This was it, the book that could shed light on this mysterious nation that somehow produced our equally mysterious new enemies.

First things first, I checked for a table of contents. If this was a history book, I'd want to separate modern ages from times long past. A mere skim of the content pages revealed this was more than a history book. There were chapters dedicated to present day fighting styles and weaponry tricks, one chapter on cooking the most popular Jrysthovuhn cuisines, another on ancient folklore, and one about the nation's ecology and natural resources. And while it was no dictionary, the Ts'aosra'iy contained some basic principles of the modern Jrysthovuhn language in written and spoken form.

With all this esoteric knowledge at my fingertips, the best place to start was the here and now. Jrysthovuh was an island nation, which easily explained why we'd never seen it during our various journeys from years ago. According to the geographical details, the Jrysthovuhn landmass was set in the far southeastern corner of the world, further east than Thamasa and further south than Albrook. This also explained why the Nyufalng had taken Albrook as their home away from home. Like Albrook, Jrysthovuh boasted some impressive ports and seafaring technologies. Though still far away, Albrook was the closest major port town outside of Jrysthovuh, and trading was typically done in early days. Though as time worn on, trading somehow diminished. I could check why later.

My next point of interest was the Jrysthovuhn government. I was expecting monarchy similar to mine, but that was hardly the case here. Jrysthovuh was an oligarchy, ruled by a council of seven Elders, called such regardless of their age. One of them was more prominent than the other six, and was thus called the Grand Elder, or Mistress if the person was female. All seven Elders/Mistresses were elected publically, but voting was restricted to citizens of certain professions or social standings. The primary vote was handled by a group of ranking officials second only to the Council.

As I read the next words, my thoughts rang with echoes of Leonard's tale. A large amount of said officials were mystics known as Shamans, or Shamanesses for women. This ranking profession was subdivided into ranks of authority. A regular Shaman was the lowest, followed by an Honored Shaman, with Great Shaman being the highest. Leonard claimed an Honored Shamaness was among the Nyufalng leadership.

To further emphasize my recollections, the word 'Shenthaxa' was regular in the pages. A Shenthaxa was, on a basic level, a warrior monk with a say in politics, as they too could vote in Council members. Shenthaxa was gender-neutral term applicable to both men and women, and it was a more diverse role than a Shaman. A Shenthaxa could wield military command, and conduct political business like an ambassador. Like the Shamans, the Shenthaxas were divided into ranks, regular Shenthaxa, Under Shenthaxa, High Shenthaxa, and Grand Shenthaxa. The last rank was a stone's throw away from actually being a Council member. According to Leonard, a High Shenthaxa was the Nyufalng's founder and leader.

There was plenty here, but I still required a great deal more. Not wanting to get hung up on any one subject, I turned the pages and found the chapter in fighting techniques.

Jrysthovuh had crafted its own unique weapons of war. Some of the more notable articles were the rangamju, a war-hammer with a spear tip and curved sickle blade on its backside, the kalsahun, a small oval shield with detachable spike that gave it offensive uses, and the daukaisna, a long, stiff sword with a toothed, serrated blade that could tear into shields and armor plate, if used by a masterful wielder.

Further reading brought me to some pages about spirit energy. Thanks to Sabin and Ziegfried, this was no longer a foreign concept to me. But Jrysthovuh had its own take on the process. There was no reference of 'the blitz' by that name, but there was frequent mention of enhancing one's strength, agility, speed, and reflexes, all of which were part of Sabin's techniques and Jrysthovuh's own.

I left that part and next read up on the nation's early history. Like many other nations and city-states of the world, Jrysthovuh had a rich back-story. In fact, with each paragraph, it sounded like the obscure nation had richer history than most other places. Why was this?

In the next paragraph, I got my answer.

I'd said it before, and I'd say it again. What you don't know about your own world is deep enough to be a whole different world in of itself.

Jrysthovuh grew more impressive with each page in this chapter, and I knew immediately that our answers to the Nyufalng problem were at the core of the far-removed oligarchy. But as I read more, a new problem emerged. Not something as dangerous as the Nyufalng themselves, but this new matter was more than a simple inconvenience.

Someone rapped on the door three times. "Edgar, they're serving dinner downstairs now."

"Oh." I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. "Thank you Charise. I'll be right out." Time really flies when you've a good book in your hands. And with something as enlightening as the Ts'aosra'iy, hours can pass like minutes. I book-marked the last page I'd read and closed the tome, placing it next to the ticking clock. As I left the bedroom, I knew it was time to share my readings with everyone. We had to form a plan of sorts, using this info.

_change in s & n_

"I figured it could happen," grumbled Locke next to me. "Evidently, it has. Aiding Albrook was a bad idea. Just as I wondered, it pissed of the extremists and they've turned their sights on us."

"Not yet," I reminded him. "They kidnapped Leonard because of his father, which they'd have done anyway, even if Edgar turned down Albrook's supply request. Yes, we're next on their shit list, but aside from Leonard's kidnapping, they've done nothing to us…yet."

"Yet." Locke emphasized that word. "C'mon Celes. It's only a matter of time. How could they get to Leonard's own house without a spy, and why else would they send a spy?"

"If they had plans to attack us at some point, then supplying Albrook would again make no difference." I didn't blame him for this anxiety. I'd be lying if I claimed to feel none myself. But in any case, panic and paranoia would solve nothing, no matter how justified such feelings were. I glanced at the front of the conference room. Edgar sat behind a table, with Sabin and Leonard at his sides. The three men were reading pages from a hardcover book of sorts, probably the one Leonard referenced three days back in the Falcon. Edgar had skimmed it in some parts, and wanted to share his findings with the whole Returner circle. Locke and I received a telegraph message, as did Sabin, who'd taken Gau and Relm into his cottage as of late. The youth academy's dorms had closed down in a desperate but much needed attempt to reduce excess water usage.

Terra, Setzer, Cyan, and Cid had taken seats. Granddad was interested in hearing about Edgar's finds on this obscure country. Edgar's Chancellor Pierre Gurdeaux sat in the front row next to Cyan. A few military troops and officials were seated in the back of the room, while others guarded the closed doors. Edgar wanted this meeting kept private. Since the Nyufalng hadn't committed any aggression against Figaro at this time, there was no point in revealing them to the general public at large.

"Thank you all for coming on rather short notice," Edgar announced, calling the meeting to order. "As you already know, our friend Leonard Gurosawn here was captured by a mysterious group called 'Nyufalng' a short while back. He escaped, and learned some vital info about his captors. They've neutralized all the governments down south for whatever reason, and Figaro is their next target. This militarized group hails from a remote nation called Jrysthovuh, a place that Leonard has studied for the last few years."

"Ha. That's an exaggeration." Leonard shook his head. "This was a specialized interest, a hobby. I'm no researcher, just a curious party reading up on things the average person wouldn't care about."

The Narshean was modest, but the King wasn't downplaying Leonard's wisdom. "Nonetheless, we are fortunate to have this resource available to us, thanks to you." Edgar lifted up the brown book he'd been reading. "This is the Ts'aosra'iy, the foremost—if not the only—text regarding Jrysthovuhn culture. It's imperative that we learn all we can about our new opponents' homeland, if we're to stop this Nyufalng problem before it escalates. I'm a man of diplomacy, and perhaps I can negotiate peace with this nation and call off the Nyufalng aggression."

"My Liege, you seem a little over-confident in such diplomacy." Cyan spoke with an edge of doubt in his voice. I felt uneasy with his tone, as if he writing off Edgar's plan before the King had a chance to elaborate.

Edgar wasn't so quick to embrace such skepticism either. "Cyan, you're quite hasty in cutting down such a method. Would you mind explaining why?"

The old knight cleared his throat. "Gladly. In all my years, I've never heard of this…Jrysthovuh. This could only suggest it's an isolated country by its own choosing. Such places are rarely concerned with affairs outside of their domain, if ever."

"I'd rather not declare war on a country we know almost nothing about." Edgar eyed the Doman general. "I know you think along similar lines. And yes, Jrysthovuh is a far-removed country from the outside world, but it's not completely cut off from the rest of us. Listen to this." Edgar opened the book to a specific page and began reading. He first mentioned how Jrysthovuh was an island in the lower eastern corner of the globe, and how Jrysthovuh once had a well-established trading system with Albrook. Additionally, intermingling was rather common between local Albrookers and traveling Jrysthovuns. I recalled what Leonard said about a teenage girl in the Nyufalng, Ajalni Voldruine. Her father was clearly an Albrook local, and if my hunch was right, her given name reflected her mother's Jrysthovuhn heritage.

Naturally, when the Empire conquered Albrook, Jrysthovuhn trade ceased completely with the southern continent, making the nation even more reclusive. In all my time in the Imperial army, Gestahl never mentioned a word of Jrysthovuh. Cutting off trade was a means to retain secrecy. This was understandable.

Edgar next spoke of martial talent and fighting disciplines that originated in Jrysthovuh. At one point, Leonard interjected. "I once thought the blitz itself was Jrysthovuhn, but you set me straight." He smiled at Sabin.

"Like I said before, the blitz is merely one variation of an esoteric practice," explained the younger Figaro brother. "But I did reference tales of Jrysthovuhn martial arts and artists. Some of these fighting styles may equal the blitz without actually copying it, as there are many ways to utilize one's own soul energy. It's been rumored that Jrysthovuh was home to uncontested martial arts champions, but that's only a long-standing rumor. None of Master Duncan's associates could verify this."

"Maybe there's something in here that will shed light on this matter." Edgar thumbed some pages in the foreign tome. His brows went up. Something important caught his attention. "Hmm. Okay. Listen to this excerpt. Your energy flows within the spirit stream, and you are one with it, though you're not always aware. Sometimes you're innately close, sometimes you are distant," the King read aloud. "But even when your own personal aura withers, the divine's aura will remain." Edgar looked up, no longer quoting the book. "Spirit Stream is capitalized, as is Divine. I hate to disappoint you Locke, but it sound like the Nyufalng's 'Divine' is very much real. The word is repeated several times in this chapter."

"So what?" scoffed the treasure hunter. "That doesn't change the facts. They're still a bunch of menacing zealots. For all we know, they're exaggerating snippets from a book to justify their intolerance and bloodlust."

I cut him off, before his tirade went any further. "In any case, we have to know what it is, and why it's so important. From what you read, it sounds important to many, not just our enemies."

"Right." Edgar flipped pages once more. "Unfortunately, there's no actual definition of the Divine. I can only theorize its some vast field of organic energy to which individuals might connect. Since we've hit a stone wall on this matter, let's move along." He turned the page.

His next quoted excerpt involved Jrysthovuh's ancient history. "Here's a symbol, one of the oldest from ancient Jrysthovuh that still exists today. Believe it or not, you've actually seen this icon before." The King glanced at Leonard, who chuckled for some reason. The in joke would be explained shortly. Edgar pulled his projection table alongside himself and placed the open book on top. He flipped a switch, and a highlighted, magnified image of the open pages was displayed on the front wall of the chamber.

Terra eye's lit up, as bright as the projection. "Oh, _that's_ where you got it. And you said you found the image in a mythology book."

"At that time, I thought it _was_ a mythology book, after second guessing it was truthful. It was true all along, in some form." Leonard reached for his necklace. "This pendant design is that exact same image before you."

The overhead projection showed a pair of offset hexagons enclosed in a circle. "This," Edgar pointed at the icon "is the classical Jrysthovuhn star calendar."

"I went to a silversmith and showed that image, asking for a pendant in the design," explained Leonard.

Edgar then elaborated about early Jrysthovuh. They had soul energy knowledge in their own little corner of the world, and prided themselves on tapping into its potential. For the most part, they used this for wisdom and self-enlightenment. That was, until the events preceding the War of the Magi.

Content with its own essence powers, Jrysthovuh had no interest in joining the global slugfest which loomed on the horizon. In fact, they grew weary of the strange power called magic, a power that was growing in use and intensity each day.

As Edgar put it, the 'Divine was at risk'. As a means to restore balance to whatever became distorted, Jrysthovuh declared that all mages and espers be hunted down and executed on the spot, before they could cause irreparable damage. Death squads travelled the world, and anyone radiating magic was sentenced to death. Though Jrysthovuh rejected magic power, declaring it a 'foreign pestilence', they developed defenses against it, and a means to somehow neutralize it with their own natural essences.

I glanced at Terra. She didn't sulk as she might have a couple years ago. Her esper ancestry was all but void now, yet it was still a very real part of her being, a part of her history. Her father's kind had once been hunted in a similar manner, not persecuted, but coveted for their powers.

It was Relm who sulked. Gau placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her people suffered much like mages had against Jrysthovuhn hostility. What the general public did to the Magi following the great war, Jrysthovuhn radicals did just prior. Ironically, such persecution led Thamasans to become their own isolated sect.

As the War of the Magi loomed ever closer, Jrysthovuh realize it could not exterminate the magic menace. Mages became more numerous, and the use of esper bio-weapons led to greater destruction a massacres. Outnumbered and out-muscled, Jrysthovuh brilliantly played the war to its advantage. The espers were so preoccupied with killing each other, the Jrysthovuhns retreated from the clash completely, withdrawing into their own borders and sealing themselves off from the catastrophic war unfolding overseas. Somehow, they established a massive barrier around their island, a shield that could neutralize any magic in its radius.

This last bit was hard to swallow at face value, but it would explain how Jrysthovuh survived the War of the Magi intact.

"Fascinating tale," exclaimed Cid. "The people of this nation must be innovative beyond imagination, though you likely know such already, having encountered some of them near Albrook. I'd like to know, who governs this kingdom today?"

"Funny you mention that Professor." Edgar flipped to a different page. "Jrysthovuh is not a kingdom, it's an oligarchy. Upper-class citizens can vote in a group of seven elected officials. This group of seven is known as the Jrysthovuhn Council."

Suddenly, Leonard's eyes perked up. His mouth fell open. "The Council! Son of a bitch! How did I forget? The Nyufalng mentioned the Council while I was in disguise."

"Well, traveling behind the lines of our new enemy and seeing them drain blood from captives would likely be something you'd rather forget," stated Sabin. "Am I right?"

While the Narshean cleared his head, Locke resumed the meeting's main issue. "They were probably referencing their primary supplier."

"No." Leonard's voice echoed through the conference. "They spoke with disgust and hatred for the Council. In fact, their hate for us may equal their hate for Jrysthovuhn leadership, at least. Maybe we're number two after the Council."

My brows arched. "You mean, the Nyufalng are not in cahoots with Jrysthovuh's government?" This could be the first bit of good news.

"They thought I was one of them, so they wouldn't lie," explained Leonard, vaguely smiling. "They claim to have been ejected from Jrysthovuh because they didn't follow the rules of the present Council. They talked all kinds of nasty shit about this Council, saying it was tyrannical and control-obsessed."

"Sure they would. Damned zealot anarchists hate all forms of government." Locke's voice was full of contempt. "We're supposed to sympathize with this Nyufalng because their homeland has established rules for residents to follow, rules that ruin bloodlust happy time. Yeah, real practical. Why the hell don't they just fight the Council and leave the rest of us alone?"

"Like I said, they distrust all established powers, or most anyway." Leonard shrugged. "But they said the Council has access to something not found anywhere else on the southern continent, or the world perhaps. That's why they're not gone back home…yet. I'm sure it's in their plans, after they deal with us here."

"Well, it sounds like we have an ally," beamed Terra. "We should contact this Council immediately, since the Nyufalng are a mutual enemy to us both. She expected instant agreement from the room, and got it in some cases. Relm and Gau nodded enthusiastically. The Chancellor also voiced approval. Leonard and Sabin grinned at each other. Cid and Locke sounded convinced.

But was it so simple? Was this too good to be true?

"Well," Edgar started. "That's not as easy as it sounds. Accessing Jrysthovuh will be a task all its own." He flipped through the Ts'aosra'iy again. "According to this, when Jrysthovuh sealed itself away from the outside world, they imbued the surrounding water. Today, furious storms rage in their seas _constantly_. The storms are violent like you'd never believe. The waves are so gigantic they create makeshift valleys on the surface. No sea vessel can withstand that magnitude of surf. The winds are no better. Dark storm clouds cover the ocean, so heavy they turn the sky pitch black even at high noon. The tempests throw about violent winds that can knock even the sturdiest of airships into a spiraling nosedive. Lightning strikes are constant, and hailstones are tossed around with such force, they'll shred most vessels to scrap, if the ships remain airborne long enough."

This was indeed an obstacle. Or was it? If the storms had never abated since the War of the Magi, how the hell did Jrysthovuhn merchant cross the seas and trade with Albrook pre-Empire? I put this question into words, saying we couldn't have it both ways. And the Nyufalng somehow crossed the ocean, so maybe the sea storms were fabricated.

"Not so," Edgar stated. "Because the storms are the product of Jrysthovuhn…_non-magic_," he wasn't sure of a fitting term "those who wished to cross the sea had to contact ruling mystics and shamans, who'd somehow lower the storms in a certain area, long enough for ships to enter or leave the country. My guess is the Nyufalng did something to that accord."

Setzer sat up. "All that time I was flying in that region, I presumed the storms were coincidental to my presence. I had no idea they were constant at some government's choosing."

"Would you attempt to fly through them?" asked Locke eagerly. "With a cargo vessel or your own refurbished Falcon?"

"No way." The gambler shook his head. "I may be one of the best pilots, but I'm not perfect. The winds, lightning, and hail just described would prove too much in combination."

"Great, so much for that option. Looks like we'll have to fight the Nyufalng ourselves, without Jrysthovuhn help." Locke shook his head, disappointed, but somehow not surprised."

"What about flying _over_ the storm?" Edgar asked. "It's worth a shot, don't you think?" He faced the Chancellor.

The older man scratched his chin. "It's risky, King Edgar, but with few other options and so much to gain, it's maybe the best option. My only question is, do you believe leaving Figaro for an indefinite period of time is such a good idea? You're needed here, what with your plumbing project nearing its completion."

"T'is a foolish, far-fetched idea that will yield no results." Cyan's voice was louder and deeper this time. He stood up and paced before us. "This nation evoked natural disasters to keep outsiders away, only allowing passage when they saw fit. They want few if any dealings with the world at large. Do you not believe me? I ask you, where was Jrysthovuh when Gestahl dominated the southern land? Where was this Council when Doma was overrun? What did this Council do when Kefka ripped our world asunder? What did they accomplish with their magic negating-techniques, besides keep themselves out of harm's way?" He stopped, and leaned over the table. "Jrysthovuh's Council is nothing but an arrogant, self-important power that cares only for itself. They think 'if not in my country, t'is not my problem. Damn them and their self-centeredness to all hells. We'd be fools to trust such insolent Xenophobia."

The room was silent. The General had all but shouted his doubts of Edgar's negotiation plans. "He's right," Locke whispered to me afterward. "Why would this nation care about us? They did nothing to stop Gestahl and Kefka, despite having the resources to do such. Getting past the sea storms would be easier than convincing this country to lend a hand. We'll just fight the Nyufalng ourselves, as we did the Empire and Kefka."

Now I shared Locke and Cyan's total skepticism. Even Thamasans, descendents of the Magi themselves, lacked the ability to fully neutralize magic. I suddenly realized how this key feature meant Jrysthovuh was the only sole nation who could've faced down the Imperials and win. Yet, Jrysthovuh did nothing. When the Empire conquered Albrook, Jrysthovuh simply ceased its trade operations and ignored the port town, leaving their old trade partners, and the rest of the continent, to suffer. 'Self-absorbed' barely scratched the surface in describing such isolationist attitudes. Edgar's diplomacy method would fail, and that was that. It didn't matter if the Council and the Nyufalng were arch enemies, and being able to cross the sea storms to enter the country was just as moot.

Leonard raised his hands and leaned back. Jrysthovuh was a mere hobby for him, and he wasn't going to takes sides between Edgar's plan and Cyan's doubt. Sabin, however, wasn't so neutral. He stood from his chair and walked around the table to face the Doman. "Cyan, don't say that." His voice wasn't angry or confrontational. He sounded more shocked and disappointed. "There are centuries worth of culture and knowledge hidden away in Jrysthovuh. Just because we can't access their ports easily does not make them a belligerent nation." His tone was unchanged, but his voice rose. "Don't say such derogatory things."

"Prince Sabin Rene Figaro." Cyan folded his arms. "You of all people should understand these implications. That you glorify this nation of pompous recluses comes as great shock. I'd think you were wiser than to praise such willful ignorance."

Sabin's face twisted, and his fingers twitched. Cyan was un-phased, waiting for a response. Locke and I were of Cyan's mindset, but his tactless attitude left something to be desired, despite the logic of his argument.

"Sirs." The old Chancellor stood and walked behind Cyan. "This is not the time for quarrels. We must think of our plan." The men who'd been squaring off returned to their seats, both shaking their heads.

"Alright, we have no option of going to Jrysthovuh's Council." Terra said, maybe hoping to get this meeting back on track and avoid potential feuds between the General and the blitz master. The two didn't always agree, but they'd become very close comrades, a bond matched by their fighting skills. It was unlike Cyan to rub Sabin so harshly like that. Of course, Cyan was critical of Jrysthovuh, not Sabin. The Prince took the comments too personally.

"Right, plan B." Edgar announced. "Hmm. You know, we've learned a bit regarding the Nyufalng. How so? Through a method that we should maybe try again."

"Huh?" asked Sabin. "What are you getting at?"

"Simple. How did we learn about their blood-drinking practices, their hatred of the Council, the Pung Thoshidai abilities, their possession of Albrook, and their precious 'Divine'?" The King leveled his brows. "We had someone inside their domain."

"You mean…we infiltrate Albrook?" asked Locke. "Just like I theorized they sent a spy our way, we return the favor?"

"No way!" Leonard's objection echoed off the chamber ceiling. "I never _volunteered_ for Albrook. I'm not going back there, and I'd really discourage any of you. They might expect such, as I've already passed as one of them. Do you want to be hung out to dry, literally? If they catch you, that's probably the best that could happen. I doubt they'll kill you immediately."

He spoke of the Nyufalng's practice, hanging a person from chains, cutting their vitals, and draining all their blood. He would know, having witnessed it firsthand. As he put it, some victims were killed that way, but one in particular was kept alive as a 'donor'. He was obviously a person of substantial importance. In fact, we Returners all were, in some way. Leonard's opposition to plan B was reasonable, especially if the Nyufalng expected it. For the moment though, I had to entertain a brooding curiosity. "Leonard, if you don't mind me asking, why did they keep that man alive? You said most of the draining subjects were bled out, but he was spared for repeated use. Did you learn anything about him?"

"Not really. I didn't want to risk exposure by acting ignorant." The Narshean gazed off, not happy to rethink his forced visit down south. "Why?"

"He's important to them, so he must be a man of intelligence, strength, or talent. Do you recall anything about him that would stand out?" I asked.

He rubbed his forehead. "Nothing about his past or any special status. I did notice a couple scars and asked if they gave him those marks, as their brutality would leave such. They said no, his scars were from a suicide attempt from years back." He looked up. "You know, the scars were kinda peculiar. "They were on his wrists, and they intersected one another."

Gasps and curses filled the room. Aside from my own swearing, I had no idea who said what. There was one very big exception though.

Relm gasped the loudest. "NO!" she stood wearily. "I—it can't be?"

But a glance around the room confirmed the girl's fear was real. Yes, he was a person of substance, and if the Nyufalng wanted to pass on talent through a fucked up blood transfusion, he was the perfect donor.

This was strike two against us. No, it was strike one, as this happened some time before Leonard's kidnapping. And this was a blow to us Returners, literally. His disappearance almost a year ago was overlooked as a quirk of his nature, but Leonard's description made it clear. The Nyufalng were more savage and threatening than they'd been up to this point.

Relm broke down, bawling as she collapsed into Gau. Terra rushed to the teen's aide, taking the girl's hand, offering what consolation she could. Locke and I jumped from our seats and approached. Relm needed all the support we could give her. We all needed each other for the moment. What we didn't know would hurt us more than we could imagine.

Clyde 'Shadow' Arrowny was a captive in the Nyufalng-seized Albrook, and they were using his blood to augment their army in their pending was against us. Any hatred or disgust Relm felt for him was gone. "Dad," she cried in a despairing voice.

"Fucking hell!" Leonard stood so fast, his chair was flung backwards. He quickly paced around the table. "That was your father, the same person you said vanishes all the time for long intervals? Damn, I had no idea."

"T'was a part of his private nature," explained Cyan, his voice controlled but his face revealing furious rage. "We didn't question the recent vanishing act. And down in Albrook, you couldn't have known when you saw him, being disguised and all."

Relm was sniffling, until Setzer pulled tissues from his coat and offered them to the teenager. She blew her nose. The sniffled were gone but the tears continued streaming. Gau and Terra sat her down on a stair gently, while Locke approached the bottom of the chamber. "We need a plan, fast."


	2. Silent Stalking

**Chapter 2: Silent Stalking**

My colleagues were overjoyed when I returned to the dairy farm. Their faces were flush with relief. Since my absence was long and unexplained, some of them assumed the worst. They had no idea how correct their assumptions were.

But I said nothing. Informing the general public of the Nyufalng scourge was very unwise, as Edgar didn't want paranoia running rampant if such was avoidable. And really, it was an experience I myself wanted to forget, so explaining it to others without purpose would do nothing for my psychological well-being. The only people who needed such information were the Returners, and they knew such already.

So when my fellow farmhands inquired about my absence, I said I got sick and was hospitalized, stating I had no interest in recalling the experience through discussion. That last part was true, after all.

Despite the unease going through my mind, my first day back was smooth and normal. Nobody asked questions about where I'd been and how it felt. The day's shift had concluded, so I punched out and went for the train stop, just like I had before the whole Nyufalng experience.

"Oh hell. Leonard!" The man's voice was energetic. I'd gotten such greetings from my co-workers earlier in the day, so this wasn't surprising.

I stood from the waiting area bench as he jogged up. "Joe. Yes, I'm back."

The jewelry-seller took my hand before I'd consciously reached for his. "Goddamn. I was worried, just like your colleagues. When I returned from vacation in South Figaro, I stopped by, asking about you. One of them told me you'd missed several days of work on end, with no explanation of why." He took a deep breath, slowing his speech and decreasing his voice intensity. "Man, they were all but panicked about you, and I had to wonder if something unfortunate happened. Really, what did?"

Again, the concern was natural and the assumption was right on the money, but Joe was an everyman, just like the farm crew. I'd be just as discreet, even though he was a close Returner associate like me. "I got sick. Not sure how. The doctors suggested food poisoning. I had vomit, diarrhea, fever, some days I didn't even feel like getting up. I won't spell out the symptoms, but I'm recovered from it all."

"Glad for that," the merchant beamed. His faced hardened up. "You know, for a while, I thought something worse happened."

Was this a natural assumption, or was he going someplace with it. "Yeah? Such as?"

His eyes darted about. "Well, when I vanished off public radar, I was held hostage in a Zozoan basement, captured and beaten by the worst gangsters in the whole slum. But I'm so happy you didn't experience such a nightmare."

_But I did, at the hands of a much more dangerous entity. Zozoans are just crooks, the Nyufalng is paramilitary organization that reaches overseas and drains blood from chosen prey._ But I said nothing of this matter. "Oh, yes. How could I forget? That experience ultimately placed you in our company." I craved a new topic. "So, did you enjoy your vacay?"

"Oh yeah. I love South Figaro. Have you been there?" he asked.

"Once, some years back." Again, this was a simplified truth. After the first Imperial invasion of Narshe, I fled to the harbor town to escape those resenting my father while blaming me for him selling out Narshe to the Imperials. This was yet another subject I wanted left behind.

"What's new in the moogle caves? Have you gone back recently, before your got sick?"

Celes told me about Umaro's going AWOL, a confusing incident all its own. Word was that someone, or something, got inside the mines and released him. She told me of Terra's venture to the cavern behind Narshe, and the woman's chase with something evasive. The yeti was still missing.

Again, I used a half truth. "No really sure. I've not checked in there for a while." In truth, I hadn't. And no one was really sure about how the yeti was released and where he dwelt now. I didn't feel like explaining something I knew so little about. Joe could visit the moogle mines himself if was that curious.

Fortunately, the training was coming. Not my usual train bound for Narshe, but a westbound train headed for Quildern. "Well, there's my ride. I must be off. Nice to see you again Joe."

"Your ride?" He asked, something I expected. "I thought you took the eastbound train home."

"I've got some different plans this evening. There's a new store in western Figaro that's got my curiosity." I started for the train's open doors. "I'll see you around."

"Happy shopping." Joe waved as I entered the train car. This was just a white lie. I wasn't going to any store, but to Locke and Celes's place for the night, again. I still didn't feel comfortable sleeping at my own pad, where someone or something, a possible Nyufalng spy, snatched me from my own backyard. At least with the Returner couple, I'd not be alone.

However, this could also remain a secret to Joe, as it pertained to my capture after the fact. The train shut its doors and went on its way. This would be the last night I'd spend with the couple. Edgar had a mission for them, something to shed light on this Nyufalng mystery. After tonight, I'd be alone once more, though not in my own place.

Still, I considered crashing at some…other place.

_change in s & n_

"Is this really such a great idea?" Locke frowned cynically.

"Edgar was open to alternatives, and gave you a chance to suggest one," I pointed out. "You had nothing. For now, he claims this is our best move. I fully agree with him."

Setzer adjusted the freight ship's altitude. Just like we did for the rescue op in saving Leonard, we 'borrowed' an airborne cargo vessel to compensate for the Falcon. Just in case prying eyes were out and about, we flew low, close to the ocean surface. We'd draw less attention at a lower altitude.

Locke paced about. "I dunno Celes. Something doesn't feel right. The Nyufalng should know we're onto them by now, and would expect us to ring their doorbell."

"Yes, _their_ doorbell in Albrook. But we're not going to Albrook. That would be suicide, as they'd expect such, yes." I pulled some dried fruit slices from a bag and tossed them into my mouth. "Leonard said the Nyufalng crushed House Virnone and Duke Sindreo. If that's the case, they surely left impressions in Tzen and Maranda, even if they didn't claim those lands for themselves. Tzenish and Marandan locals _have_ to know something about this organization. So we'll do groundwork and ask about."

The treasure hunter bit into a granola bar. "Alright, I'll grant you that much. It's less dangerous than going to Nyufalng Central itself. We're heading to the city-states which the Nyufalng…" He stopped, a bitter, spiteful glare on his face.

"Which they what, Locke?" I knew that expression. He was very hesitant to speak that next word.

But he wasn't one to hold out like so. "Which they liberated." He snarled that last word, with chewed granola bites flying off his lips. It was a sour tone, clearly one of disgust. Yes, the Nyufalng did overthrow the tyrants of Maranda and Tzen, but doing such hardly made them benevolent. It was unlikely the Nyufalng had Tzen and Maranda's best interests at heart. But taking down the pro-Gestahl House and the maniacal Duke brought charisma aplenty for our new enemies. Locals might take the Nyufalng's side for that very reason.

Our vessel continued southward. After a few minutes, Setzer announced, "I see the peaks of the Tzenish Mountains, in the distance. We're approaching."

The Tzenish Mountains were still the northern-most geographic point of the lower continent. They were a small but rugged mountain range lining the upper edges of Tzen's namesake capital. Highly fertile, they were covered in dense woodland with a high canopy line.

The mountains were rough, but the northern shores weren't so treacherous. Setzer found a smooth patch of ground at the mouth of a thick redwood tree line. A lucky find, we could dock our ship here and stay largely hidden. The ship slowed and the engine noise decreased as the gambler maneuvered the cargo vessel down into the landing spot. When it touched down gently, he shut off the motors. "All packed with your essentials?" He asked.

I felt around my overcoat. A hand radio was stuffed into a side pocket. "Check."

"And double check." Locke found his own radio in a similar jacket. "I'll inspect the transit."

In the back of the cargo ship were some chocobos. Since we anticipated parking the ship a ways from inhabited civilization, we'd brought some mounts to cover the remaining distance. That raised another important question; where could we stash our mounts? We couldn't exchange our Figaro currency for Tzenish Nakelle before setting off, and trying to swap Edgar's currency in a local Tzenish exchange might raise eyebrows. Renting chocobo stables wasn't an option.

So we'd bring transportation along, with a new technology twist. Chocobos would return to the airship stable when we commanded them to. When we needed them again, we could summon them with a new device called a muster beacon. It would send out long-range transmissions to receptors on the birds' riding gear, and the birds would move out toward the signal's origin, where riders awaited.

Locke inspected the beacon transmitters and receivers. "Working like a charm, happily." He pressed some buttons. We didn't hear anything, but the sound frequency was audible to chocobo ears. The birds squawked in some peculiar fashion.

"Alright. As always, good luck." Setzer faced us. "I'll be standing by. Update as you see fit. This vessel can bail in haste if you require a fast escape."

"Got it. And if you hear something, radio us immediately." I pulled my jacket tight, adjusting my scarf and sunglasses. It was a simple disguise, but it worked. We'd not reveal ourselves to the public at large.

Setzer pressed a button that opened the ship's cargo hatch. Locke and I mounted a chocobo each and prompted our rides to exit the vehicle.

Locke wore his own disguise of spectacles and a top hat. "Okay, mission commence. Watch yourself. If the Nyufalng took down the old governments, they probably had moles in both Tzen and Maranda. Those insiders might still be lingering about. We fuck up near the wrong people, and our secret presence goes bye-bye."

It was a legit concern. Locke was still convinced there was a Nyufalng mole amidst Figaro, though he didn't suggest any names. Down here, the presence of such spies was even more likely. His obsessions were beneficial in times like these. "Wise words from a master of subterfuge and espionage. There's a reason we didn't bring any Figaroan money along."

"Right." He looked south toward a mountain, but his true interest was beyond. "Let's move."

The ride was smooth, save for a few twists and turns. We didn't ride all the way into town. Instead, we reached the first sign of civilization before dismounting. We didn't want any potential witnesses noticing our chocobos run back to the airship, lest curious parties follow. After sending the birds back to the vessel, we covered the remaining distance on foot, entering the upper edges of Tzen.

The town's northwest corner was mostly occupied by the enclosed political district, in which the royal estates and private airfield were located. It took just one glance to reveal things were different. Along the northern wall of the government neighborhood were some large gaping holes. Repairs had only just commenced. A few guard towers along the wall were trashed. Others had fire damage. Beyond the perimeter wall, the buildings within looked no better in some parts. There were holes in roofs, boards over windows, burn marks on walls. An urban warzone would bear such. Someone had assaulted House Virnone's stronghold.

In fact, as we walked further into town, it became obvious that it was no longer House Virnone's HQ. Near the wall's northeast corner was a flag pole. A single banner fluttered in the breeze. It wasn't the Imperial flag, nor the flag of the pro-Empire House Virnone. This was a new flag, black and red bearing a not-so peculiar insignia.

"Look at that." I pointed up at the black and red banner. "The flag itself is new, but the logo is not."

"Yeah," Locke whispered, mindful to keep our observations under the public radar. "Unless my memory is failing, that's the crest logo of Tzen's ACOS, the Appointed Cabinet of Secretaries."

"Are they running things now that House Virnone's out of the picture?" I wondered. House Virnone would never allow such a flag to replace its own, unless they were removed by force. We'd made visual conformation of the Nyufalng's accomplishments, in part.

To confirm any more, we'd have to chat with locals. Beyond the wall's corner was a three-way intersection of two major streets. Of interest was an antique store on the corner. "Let's go inside." I pointed at the shop in question. "Something tells me we'll find info by asking around within." I spoke normally, as my words revealed nothing of our intentions.

A bell rang as we opened the door, ringing a second time as it shut behind us. Stylized clocks lined one wall, and vases lined another, with phonographs on display in the floor space. "Good day," said an elderly man with glasses from behind a counter. "How might I help you?"

"We're just browsing," said Locke, telling the cover story we'd rehearsed beforehand. "We're on a shoestring budget, after travelling as far as we did."

"Well, if you see something you like, come back when your purse is heavier." The shopkeeper smiled and polished a drinking cup. "Prices are back down to normal, again."

I gazed at Locke. The shopkeeper had just volunteered free information, vague though it was. This was a chance to inquire. "Again?" I asked. "What happened?"

"House Virnone once enforced a law, demanding certain merchants had to increase prices, almost twofold. They wanted our money." The clerk started polishing an ornate bronze set of fireplace tools. "But now, I can claim this business for myself once more, with House Virnone gone."

This was it. The local had verified the dramatic events we'd missed from up north. Our opening was larger now. "House Virnone is truly gone?" Locke walked up to the sales counter, with me close behind. "Pardon my asking. We've been away for a long time. When rumor spread that House Virnone was no more, we decided to come back, hence our expensive travel cost. What happened to the old government?"

The aged shopkeeper hung the ash broom in the set's rack and faced us. "Someone swarmed the House's estate in a ruthless full-scale attack. The press told us all to stay away from the political district, claiming a military uprising was afoot. But someone from outside this town pulled off the assault instead."

"Who?" Locke stressed the eagerness in his voice. We knew full well who attacked the House's fortified dwelling, but we had to get the local's own words.

The man grabbed the shovel of the tool kit and began polishing the scoop. "An odd group with a most peculiar name." He paused and glanced at the ceiling. "Yes, according to Cabinet Minister Gorukean, they were called the Nyufalng. Don't ask me what that means, or what language it came from."

Just as we thought. The Cabinet was now running Tzen, and its leader Iradmiud Gorukean obviously knew something about the House's killers. "What else did Gorukean say about them?" I wanted all the information I could get from the shopkeeper.

"He didn't say much, but said that if Tzen stayed neutral and didn't interfere with Nyufalng business, the Nyufalng would leave us in peace. Evidently, The Nyufalng went after Duke Sindreo shortly after toppling House Virnone. The Duke has also been removed from power. Certain Marandan refugees left here upon hearing such news." The merchant hung the shovel and grabbed the wood poker. "I'd say the Nyufalng have done a fine of job of liberating our people, and the people of Maranda."

We shared another glance. Once again, our predictions were proven true. The Nyufalng had earned the endearment of the locals upon destroying the pro-Gestahl government. The man even said 'liberated', echoing Locke's term of choice.

"You think of this…Nyufalng as a benevolent force?" asked Locke, betraying no personal feelings.

"Well, why not? They freed our city-state from the House's iron fist, and they've shown no interest in taking over for themselves. They've liberated Albrook and Maranda as well." The man stopped scrubbing the poker shaft and looked at us through his glasses. "How is that not a virtuous deed?"

I spoke up. "Just because they freed you and the other city-states doesn't automatically prove their benevolence," I pointed out in calm tone. "You can't logically take their word at face value like so." This was truth. Though we couldn't prove conquest was on the Nyufalng's agenda, we couldn't disprove such either. We already knew they had malicious intentions, having kidnapped two of our friends.

"They freed us, and have left us alone since." The man hung the poker and grabbed the log tongs. "That is enough for trust. According to Minister Gorukean, it's also enough for gratitude. I trust the Minister's judgment."

"What does Gorukean know about them?" I pressed.

"He just said if we stay neutral, we'll be fine." The shop clerk didn't stutter or hesitate.

"So he doesn't know them very well," Locke stated. "Sir, anyone who can dispose of Sireck and Edrina, House Virnone, and Duke Sindreo is a force to be reckoned with. That they've been secretive with your new leader should raise a few eyebrows. They're probably hiding much more than they told him. They're obviously powerful, well-staffed, and well-stocked. Add secrecy to that mix, and questions will abound. What are they doing now, with the House and the Duke deposed?"

"How should I know? I'm here, not in Albrook." The shopkeeper oiled the tongs at their hinges. "But my late nephew's widow showed much interest in them. She bid me farewell yesterday, intent on heading for Albrook to learn more about this group." After placing the tongs with the rest of the set, he looked at us quizzically. "Why all the skepticism?"

"I'm just hesitant to trust a bunch of strangers, especially ones with military muscle like this Nyufalng," I clarified. "You don't know who they are, or what they want. Just keep an open mind." I grabbed Locke and gestured with my eyes at the door. We'd said enough here. It was time to leave, before we could invoke suspicion. And I could see a flash in Locke's eye. I knew that sign well enough to decipher its meaning.

Concealed rage.

"Good luck with your business, now that it's yours again." I bid the clerk a friendly farewell, with Locke right behind me as I pulled opened the door, ringing the bell again.

Once outside, Locke snarled into my ear. "I knew it. I fucking knew it. These people are _praising_ the goddamned Nyufalng. 'Respect neutrality' they say. Leonard was neutral in his father's deeds, and look what they did to him."

"I understand Locke, but I'm not really surprised," I reasoned. "Even Gorukean knows very little about our new enemies, and he obviously exchanged words with them. The Tzenish public is just grateful the Imperial shadow has been lifted from their shoulders after twelve years. The Nyufalng accomplished this city-state's dream, so the locals aren't about to question their so-called liberators' motive."

Just walking down the street proved times had changed dramatically in a short period. When the Empire took over Tzen, using House Virnone's inside help, Imperial magitek walkers paced the streets day and night for the next eight years. After Kefka slaughtered Gestahl and thus brought down the Empire, his menace loomed over the town for a whole year afterward, with House Virnone exploiting such desperation. Upon Kefka's death, the House took Tzen as its own, repeating the oppressive regime of their Gestahlian superiors for the next three years, until recently.

For the first time in a dozen years, people walked to and fro without monstrous abominations or artillery-toting machines stalking their every move. Some people around us hadn't experienced such freedom since their childhood. A younger generation was first experiencing it right now.

They appreciated the Nyufalng, and as the storekeeper explained, some locals were heading to Albrook to join their liberators, no questions asked.

"I'd like for this whole town to see what the Nyufalng did to Shadow and Leonard," hissed Locke resentfully. "Maybe that'll wake 'em up to the zealots' true nature."

"Careful." I took his hand. "You're feelings are normal and expected, but don't vent here. Remember, we're undercover."

He said nothing, and we walked further along the street. As we passed an open door, rowdy cheering sounded from within. A sign above the door suggested a local pub. "Ah, a tavern, a place where folks gather to discuss current happenings over drinks and games." Locke tried smiling, but his mood was still dark. "It should be interesting inside."

His rage seethed within, but it hadn't clouded his intuition. We'd learn something in this bar. The two of us headed inside. A group of locals was gathered around a pool table. A man around Locke's age with a goatee and a slight wave in his hair stood before them, a bottle in his hand. He took a drink, grinning and laughing.

"You sure are happy about something." I smiled back at him in friendly manner. Maybe this would start up conversation.

"Hell yeah." The local man held out the drinking bottle. "It's been a while since I could afford this brew. The House all but criminalized this particular beverage, simply because they didn't like it. Now they're gone, so I can drink my favorite once more." He took another sip. "Also, I'm here on discount hour. Normally, I'm at work right now."

"That a fact?" inquired Locke, noting the deviation from the man's regular schedule. "Is it your day off?"

"Nah." He gestured at the crowd around the billiard table. "We're all on a temporary leave, until they get the workplace up and running again."

"Oh?" My interest was genuine. "What place is this, and why's it down?"

The man pointed behind him. "A few miles east of here is a major factory, overseen by the military. Not long ago, the whole crew was working full-throttle at the House's demand. I guess we pushed our munitions too far. The power generator got overloaded, and we blew a fuse. The backup generator also failed that same day. The House would've replaced them ASAP, as the factory provided the army with machines and weapons, but their district got attacked shortly afterward." The man sipped his choice beverage. "We'll resume production once they install the new generators and reorganize the workforce, since the House no longer calls the shots."

My face was neutral, but I was beaming inside. A military-controlled plant blows all its power supplies just before the local government is assaulted by an outside force. I opened my mouth to ask about the overload when a blonde woman near the pool table spoke up. "You know, rumors spread about sabotage, that someone deliberately got inside the plant and tampered with the generators to cause that power surge."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't," said the man with the drink. "I don't give a shit how it went down. Either way, it crippled the House and made them easier pickings for those liberators outside. We can replace the factory's power supply, but the House is gone forever. That private army or whatever did us a wonderful public service."

A subtle nod of heads between Locke and I verified how our thoughts synched up. _It was sabotage on the Nyufalng's part._

But we didn't reveal this knowledge. In fact, I wanted to seem out of the loop on recent happenings, just to suggest ignorance. "I wouldn't know. We've been out of town for a couple years." This was true for us both. The last time I was here in Tzen, Kefka used a tiny Light of Judgment on a large mansion, rather fortunate for the town, as a magic weapon that could demolish whole cities had only ruined a single building. Locke had last been here when stocking up for his journey into the Phoenix cave, now submerged somewhere in the northern mountains. He'd not returned since.

It made clear sense for the Nyufalng to go around vandalizing and destroying public property as they had in the plant. The man's endorsement of such deeds also came as no surprise, not after hearing the old shopkeeper in the antique store.

This was a good time to ask questions and state a couple facts, if only to gauge the local's reaction. "You know, suppose it was intentional sabotage on behalf of this…army. That kind of malicious behavior is destructive. People could get hurt, even killed. You're very quick to praise them for a crime, even against the House, too quick. And who is this army? We heard rumors of the House's demise and came back to get the scoop firsthand."

"They're called Nyufalng, and they're stationed somewhere around Albrook, so I've heard." The man went to the counter and pulled out a bar stool. "Minister Gorukean said they won't bug us, if we don't bug them. That sounds fair. And yes, a lot of people died when they stormed the political district. So what? They were all either loyal House troops who knew the risks of army business, or fuck-head politicians who had it coming." He gestured around the tavern at the bartender and the other patrons. "We're all still here. I can't say this Nyufalng group is ill-intentioned, especially after they took out Maranda's Duke. With Albrook's House gone, that's three less wannabe empires to worry about."

"I hear that." Another patron at the pool table raised his glass before looking at us. "You folks missed all the fun. The Empire's last loyal faction is history, just like the Empire itself. We're still discovering the benefits of what those Nyu-somethings did for our city-state."

I clenched my teeth at the word 'fun'. Warfare, especially the kind the Nyufalng had probably waged, was a gruesome, grizzly matter that no virtuous person would find pleasurable. Of course, the Nyufalng could view it like so. But hearing this local workman, an average guy with an average lifestyle, call it 'fun' put a knot in my stomach. It sounded like the Nyufalng's lust for mayhem was infectious.

On the outside, I'd kept my civility thus far. I tried putting a new spin on the discussion. "I understand the House was totalitarian, and their demise has surely brought freedom to this town after three years of post-Palazzo tyranny. Goddesses know the whole world celebrated at Kefka's passing. Post-House, I'm sure they did it here too." Using Kefka's death not only referenced truth, it also utilized empathy. This would make us look ordinary, not suspicious. "But these Nyufalng are strangers. I'd not be so quick to sing praises and virtues about some 'private army' I know almost nothing about, even if they did take out House Virnone. The Nyufalng only said they'd stay out of your affairs if you returned the favor. That doesn't constitute concern for Tzen's well-being."

"You said it yourself. They killed civilians, those aforementioned 'fuck-heads'." Locke used the patron's own words to counter the man's point. "Yes, I get that said politicians were House supporters, but killing civilians violates the rules of military engagement. It's not a mark of civilized, decent people."

The man at on the bar stool nearly smirked. "Really? Spare me the clichéd bullshit. Those 'decent, civilized' people are the first ones to get eaten alive by the tyrants, and the civilized haven't the edge or killer instinct to crush their oppressors."

"Besides," the bartender cut in. "The average rapist or murderer is a civilian with no military status, and they often fight with military staff, which gets them killed. The Nyufalng aren't the first to slay non-military persons. Use common sense man."

At that moment, a man husky man with a beard and gray hair stood up. We'd not seen him until now, as he'd been sitting amid the group at the billiard table. He approached the bar counter without sparing us a glance. Maybe he didn't care about the discussion. The bar tended noted the empty cup in the man's hand. "More tap water, Mr. Canavielle?"

The old patron coughed twice before answering. "Yes, thank you." The tavern master took the glass and filled it behind the counter. He gave it back to the customer, who went back to the billiard gathering, ignoring us again.

Another patron, a man with a pool cue, looked up. "The Nyufalng spared us, the Cabinet, and any soldiers who defected away from the House. Anyone they killed either deserved it, or was too stupid to see it coming." He thrust at the white cue ball, which rolled into a striped ball.

Locke and I shared a grim look. Just as we suspected, the people were sold on the Nyufalng's ruthless conduct. The very people for whom we fought and risked our lives tenfold were embracing the very malice we hoped to eradicate. Locke's eyebrow was twitching again.

"Well, if that's your attitude, enjoy it." I beat him to our last word. "But on the topic of common sense, trusting a militarized group of strangers who exhibit extreme thuggish behavior is _not_ common sense." I turned, grabbed Locke's hand, and headed out the door. The locals mumbled a few things as we departed, but I didn't care to listen.

Back outside, Locke was breathing through clenched teeth. This went horribly, even worse than our visit to the antique shop. I doubted we'd hear anything different if we asked around further, so I turned and headed back to the palace district. Locke was right behind me.

"You know, I take back what I said a few minutes ago, about sharing Leonard and Clyde's kidnapping with these people." His voice was almost flat.

"Oh." I asked, already figuring out his response.

"I doubt it would make any difference. They'd probably just excuse it with a fuck-them-they-asked-for-it mentality." His voice betrayed none of the rage in his eyes. He'd not blown it, yet.

And if he was going to, it wouldn't be in town. "If that's the case, let's bail. We've confirmed that House Virnone is dead, and how the Nyufalng are praised by the citizens, and…" I massaged my stomach. The bar patrons' endorsement of Nyufalng incivility was more upsetting than I first thought. "I feel nauseous."

"Yeah, I'd also like to get back to the airship." Locke's brow kept twitching. "I don't want to invoke suspicion. And if we might've already, let's not invoke more." We left Tzen behind, passing the damaged political district wall once more, en route for the mountain trail. When far enough away from the town we summoned the chocobos with our beacons. When the birds arrived we mounted, heading back to the airship.

We arrived, went inside, and put the mounts in stable pen at the cargo bay's rear. "So, the bad guys have Tzen wrapped around their fingers?" asked Setzer after we described our experience with the townspeople.

"Yeah, and the concept of the Nyufalng being evil is lost on them." Locke bit into a green apple. "They admitted knowing very little about the paramilitary organization, and presume if they stay neutral, the Nyufalng will leave them in peace. Note how neutral Leonard was regarding his father, and they captured him regardless. Their idea of 'neutral' is much different than the popular definition."

"But we did confirm what Leonard told us, about House Virnone and Duke Sindreo's demise at the Nyufalng's hands," I said, grabbing a handful of trail mix. "Our trip was short, but not completely wasteful."

"So what next?" Setzer drank from a canteen. "Do we check inside Maranda?"

"Obviously, to get the locals' story firsthand, but we should try a different approach." I emptied a bag of croutons into my hand. "In Tzen, we might've sounded too critical, despite trying to sound ignorant of the Nyufalng. That could've raised eyebrows. We'll have to rethink our act before going in."

_change in s & n_

I sat in the dining room of Albrook's palace, biting into a sweetened pork rib. I could finally chew meat without my jaw aching, and my tongue no longer itched. That motherfucking Narshe Coward really scored some good hits, causing a light jawbone fracture and severing almost half my licking blade. Both wounds had mended, with the tongue re-growing its lost segment. But the real damage had surely been done elsewhere. The bastard escaped with his friends, and he'd surely told his tale. We were no longer a secret to the world's biggest hypocrites.

How much did they know thus far? Too much regardless, but there was still a lot they didn't know. They couldn't possibly know everything.

"So, what's next?" I asked between bites. "Any news?"

Sdalsyra drank from a soda glass. Her own abdominal wound had fused itself closed the day after the conflict, and she'd replaced her shredded tank top with an identical one. According to her, the ex-Imperial used a strange new sword technique. The Corrodess was thrown back a few yards, bleeding in several places around her naval. "As you should know, our next move relies greatly on Tanrevilt. He's the only person who can dig up information, and even then, he's not privy to such."

Our first clash with Figaro's Returners ended in defeat. The escaped Narshe Coward had brought his newly equipped friends right to our doorstep, just hours after we'd slain Duke Sindreo and his last minions. We chased him down, but with limited energy and numbers, we accomplished little against the Figaroan army's new tools and talents. They were anything but inept rookies, and we knew this. That they mobilized and flew across the ocean in a span of a couple hours spoke volumes for their competence. Fighting them as we had, it was no surprise they took us down despite our effort. This didn't make the defeat any less infuriating.

"So, we just sit on our asses and wait?" I drank my own soda. "That can't be right. Simply waiting for the opposition to come back around is not Ruqojjen or Yithadri's style, even if the enemy would try such a brash, brazen method." A military assault would be too obvious; they'd surely expect us to brace for one, and therefore not go for it. "What's Tanrevilt up to? He's not just waiting around, I'd presume."

"No, but he's not going to attract suspicion just to gain intel. And don't forget, the Divine has a festering wound that's literally right under his nose. That subject may get most of his immediate attention, since it's a public matter." The Pung Thoshidei women sliced into a baked potato. "Of course, only he knows the full extent of the truth."

I was on the fence regarding this matter. While it was not good news for us and certainly not the Divine, that festering wound could become a real setback to our opponents. If that happened, we could exploit it, striking in the time of turmoil. "Has the wound in question gotten any worse? Did Tanrevilt say anything about it in his last message?"

"I'm not sure, since I've not inquired or checked the transmission records." She scooped forkfuls of potato into her mouth. "I doubt he's ignoring the matter, in any case."

Tempting though it was to consider, we all knew a full-on assault against Figaro was out of the question. Surely their naval ports were heavily guarded, expecting such an obvious onslaught. The capital was likely the most well-patrolled, as it was centered around the King's personal residence. As it stood for now, most of our next move relied on Tanrevilt's action.

As we finished our meal, Qaurjaeda rushed into the dining room. "Shit's going down. We just got a radio message."

After the fight in the Cradhawch Plateau, the Grav-wielder had coughed up spurts of his own blood and pails worth of puke. A new Figaroan device, an egg-shaped gas bomb according to his story, discharged a green cloud of poison fumes around him. His bones, muscles, and much of his skin was durable beyond human standards, but the muscled, quadruped Pung Thoshidei still had limitations and weak points.

"Really?" I asked. "From Tanrevilt?"

"Actually no, much closer." The Grav-wielder pointed northwest.

We listened as he reiterated message. Yes, shit had gone down, and it was big. It was nothing we could ignore.

_change in s & n_

I read the newest work reports. "This is it. The plumbing upgrades are now being placed within the northeastern farming districts. It's finally happening."

Charise organized her place setting in preparation for the meal. "See. I told you Edgar. I said it many times. This plumbing process was _temporary._ Now it's the beginning of its end, the start of the final stretch. If you've never understood my words before, it's time to understand now." She threw me a wink.

For those in the agriculture district who'd waited around all this time, their faith and patience was about to get rewarded.

No. It was _being_ rewarded right now. The payoff had only just begun. Many had grown impatient, skeptical, and outright resentful of my taxations to fund the piping upgrades. They were hardly at fault for such. Little did they realize how much their negative emotions mirrored my own. They were paying the tax money, but I was demanding it. I was the person who'd feel guilt if this failed, the person who'd get the blame, who'd lose trust if nothing were gained from the grueling but unavoidable task. As it was, many people had started losing faith in my ruling capacity. People tried rallying protests, while others had left town altogether. The farming community was particularly outspoken, as they needed all that water to sustain their crops. Those same crops helped sustained the whole town. Everything was connected.

I wanted to see their faces and hear their voices, to prove that I really had come through and kept my promise. Those who'd never doubted me were surely singing my praise even louder, and the skeptical could very well have their trust restored. It'd not be instantaneous, but this was the first step to re-forging that bond.

I should have felt joy beyond joy, relief beyond relief.

"I'd think you be more excited darling." My wife pulled her soup spoon from a cloth napkin. "You've been waiting for this a long time, several months, and it's probably felt even longer."

I breathed steadily. She was right, I'd been dreaming of this day, ever since raising taxes the first time. Now that day was imminent upon me, a piercing light shining at the not-so-distant end of the dark tunnel.

But something had changed since that time. "Dear, back then, we'd never heard the term 'Nyufalng'. As much as I want to celebrate, fixing the waterworks utilities will not solve our Nyufalng problem. They're waiting for the opportunity to strike, to ignite their war against us full-scale. They already captured two of our friends, one of whom escaped and launched our surprised counter-offensive against them. It won't be long before they try something more spectacular."

Charise wasn't a military genius. Combat and strategies were beyond her, despite her father's decorated history. She couldn't offer cautionary measures against a potential Nyufalng assault.

But she did have valuable input on something else. She leaned close. "Edgar dear, you're doing what you can on that matter, what with Locke and Celes inquiring down south in disguise. While they do their job, you should do yours up here." She gestured at the closed dining room doors. Nobody was around to hear this discussion. "The general public is oblivious to the Nyufalng, and cares more about their new plumbing system. Celebrate its foreseen completion, with them. You're King. You must keep a positive face for public relations. Take pride in your accomplishment. Your people, _our_ people, need you, and you need them, even you don't realize it. It's their happiness that keeps you strong, their endearment that inspires you to move on when times are uncertain. Feed off one another's positive energy."

She did it again, always seeing the tiniest speck of light amid the dreariest of the dark. Her smile and shining teal eyes made gloom damned near impossible. I had to smile back, if only to reward her idealism. "Okay, you win. The public jubilation is my reward for coordinated hard work and months of rigorous deliberation. I can offer cake and eat it too." I leaned forward to kiss my beloved for a close moment. The dining room was sparsely occupied.

Our lips just barely touched when a uniformed castle guard approached. "Sire, a man from the commerce hall requests your time, for just a moment."

"Why…yes. Allow him in." I leaned away from Charise this time. We'd have plenty of opportunities later on.

"King Edgar." Joe came up, enthusiasm radiating in his stride and face. "I heard the news about plumbing progress. Is it true, that it's almost done?"

Maybe he knew the answer already, judging from his expression. I shared his feelings on the matter. "That is correct. When the farming community gets new extensions, only the northern edges of town will remain."

"Fantastic!" Joe's voice radiated lively energy, speaking for us both. "All that tax money is, no pun intended, paying off. Not that I doubted your ingenuity. It's so unfortunate that various other townsfolk didn't share my appraisal of you. But times are changing, and the lost will regain their confidence in you."

And I'd regain trust in them, trust to believe in me. But Joe hadn't lost any faith in Edgar Roni Figaro, so I could withhold my self-doubts with him. Said doubts were dissipating anyway. "Well, experiencing is believing, for those who remain skeptical at least."

The jewel merchant stretched his arms above his head. "I _occasionally_ wondered if there was any alternative. I mean, why go through such a strenuous, costly procedure of digging, laying pipes, and covering up the holes all over town, closing streets and disrupting transit. In the end, I know you'd have chosen a simpler method if there had been one. You did the only thing you could, and now the whole town is coming out on top."

I had to laugh. "Well, did you know something I didn't about the desert's geological structure, or potential underground waterways that I could've overlooked? If so, it's rather late to speak your peace."

Joe understood the sarcasm. "What? Me? A humble merchant who's but a dust speck alongside _your_ glory? King Edgar, your title foreshadows your wisdom. Without you and your troops storming Zozo alongside local Fondanites, I'd probably have died from exposure in that slum town. I owe you my life, and that debt will continue even once the plumbing taxation comes to pass. Your strength brings such to my average self."

"Thank you Joe. It's your trust that inspires me, even if you find that hard to comprehend." A door behind us opened. I turned and saw waiters pushing a cart with food platters on top. "Well, your moment's up. Our dinner has arrived."

"Indeed. I'll be around if I have more questions. Thanks for all you've done, King Edgar." Joe left the dining room as the cart was wheeling next to our table. Stewed rabbit was the evening's meal, with rice, carrots, and bean soup on the side. Cider was the accompanying beverage.

Normally, I'd have taken my time eating to enjoy the meal, but this evening I ate in haste. "Dear, why the rush?" asked my wife. She wasn't even half done with her meal, while I'd almost finished mine.

I wiped gravy off my chin. "I'd like to get back to the Ts'aosra'iy, the book that can hopefully answer the various questions we still have regarding the Nyufalng."

"Oh, right. Just as long as you don't weld that book to your hands, you should be fine." She drank from her cider cup as I stood from the table. I had a chance to continue my journey through Jrysthovuh's auto-biography, and I was running with it.

I was almost running literally, power-walking out of the dining room and up the stairs to our bedroom. The book was exactly where I'd left it, on my night table. I closed the door, sat on the bed, and thought about the next chapter of interest.

From just one encounter with our new opposition, it was obvious the Pung Thoshidai beings were the most dangerous asset the Nyufalng could send our way. I wanted more info about those five beings, which I'd conveniently dubbed as the non-magical counterparts to the espers. My instinct was to look at the section on Jrysthovuhn folklore, which referenced Pung Thoshidai several times. But I was more curious about soul energy and its use in fighting techniques. The Pung Thoshidai each used their own talents based in such, so my next pages of interest would cover that subject.

I skimmed what I'd read previously, about famed martial artists utilizing blitz-like fighting techniques. I was interested in a source of this energy, just to be sure if it was all drawn from the exact same origin.

Maybe it wasn't. I read some pages describing how a source could be shared, even taken from one to another. The source was called 'zeyhuon gujumn', and in the next paragraph was a translation.

Blood energy. Blood contained some unique energy particles that could be used for numerous techniques and procedures. That would explain why the Nyufalng were using Shadow's blood to augment their troops. It also explained how they replaced their own missing body parts with mutated ones by draining blood from enemy captives. This reinforced what we'd already deduced about the Nyufalng. They were a dangerous combination, gruesome and savage, while at the same time practical and inventive.

I turned the page and read the first text block aloud. "Feed the zeyhuon gujumn to those in need, those who can take its content through osmosis. Yet, the gujumn might be offered to the Divine if dire needs require such. The Divine can feast upon its energy, which it absorbs like a human would nutrients." The Divine was real, but this new info did nothing to explain its nature. It sounded like it was some giant, cosmic pet to which the Nyufalng were offering blood as one might offer table scrapes to a dog. I doubted this however. The book's emphasis on the Divine made it sound too important for a deified house pet. Did this 'Divine' have a sentience or soul? Was it 'alive' in the sense as people were? Or was it somewhere in between. Plants were alive, but they didn't have souls, and they absorbed nutrients in water and plant food. I still doubted the Divine was a celestial plant that feed on blood.

Someone knocked on the door. "Your Highness, I've a printed transcript of a radio message."

"Thank you. Bring it in." A uniformed woman entered the room, papers in hand. The message was brief but informative. Locke and Celes were savvy at saying a lot in the fewest words.

House Virnone defunct by Nyufalng. ACOS ruling Tzen now. Locals know little of Nyufalng, but believe them virtuous. Some plan to enlist with foe.

So House Virnone was gone, and the Appointed Cabinet of Secretaries was ruling in its place. Just as I feared, the Nyufalng were trusted after toppling Gestahl's last heir, despite being a huge mystery to Tzen's people, who weren't asking questions.

"I see." My eyes went from the message to the soldier. "Did they say anything else?"

"Only that they left Tzenish territory, and will ask around Maranda tomorrow, with a much different attitude. Should I relay any changes in their directive, if we hear back from them?"

"No," I answered, "the objectives remain as they were, for now. If there's a change, I'll update you as needed. Thank you soldier. Dismissed."

"Aye, Highness." The women left my presence, leaving me alone with the Ts'aosra'iy again. Though I soon reached the end of the chapter, nothing made any reference to the so-called 'Divine'. What was it? Why was it so precious to the Nyufalng? Was it precious to anyone else?

_change in s & n_

"Okay, take two." Locke adjusted his glasses. "We know the Duke was killed off. Tzenish locals told us themselves. We can expect the same attitude here that we found in Tzen."

After leaving the shores north of the Tzenish Mountains, Setzer docked the airship amid dense woodland east of Maranda's capital. We spent the night amid foliage cover, setting out after having breakfast. As usual, we rode chocobos until we got close to civilization, than sent them back to the vessel, continuing on foot.

"Yes, I'm already bracing for that." I cringed subtly. Though not surprising, it was no less disheartening to anticipate the how the locals would endorse the Nyufalng, excusing our enemies' violent behavior with a 'they-set-us-free' defense. For the moment, that defense was successful.

We walked through the streets of Maranda. Just like Tzen, the city was alive in ways it hadn't been for years. I myself helped end such livelihood, as I lead the Torching of Maranda, killing Emperor Turianse Montrino and his loyal vanguard in a one-sided clash, exploiting his refusal to use underhanded tactics. Maranda spent the next two years under Gestahl's reign, and another year at Kefka's (lack of) mercy. After that, Duke Sindreo shredded the people and their spirits beneath his deranged heel.

Six years had passed since Maranda was free, and that freedom owed itself to the Nyufalng.

"Let's look around for someone to talk with, get a conversation going, and learn about the Nyufalng's activities." I pulled my jacket closed over my white dress.

"I've got the perfect ice-breaker, over there." Locke pointed at a flag pole in a tower's courtyard. It was void of any banner. The flag of Empress Gallisirva once had three white lines spreading out from its midpoint, creating a Y across the flag. Brown, yellow, and orange fields were placed around the white dividers. The absence of this unique banner was expected. Gestahl's colors wouldn't fly either, and surely the Duke would massacre any who didn't fly his flag…were he still alive.

Around the empty flagpole was a lawn. A middle aged woman in faded jeans, a tunic-style blouse, and straw hat was tending the plants within.

"Good day Ma'am." I approached the groundskeeper. "We've been out of town for a long time, and heard rumors about Duke Sindreo suddenly passing away." Like we did in Tzen, we used some truth in our fictional cover tale. "His banner flies no more up there." I gestured at the pole. "Is the rumor true?"

The woman looked up. "Hello, and yes. The man who almost destroyed our beautiful city-state has been slain, as were his minions. We are free."

"Really?" Locke feigned ignorance. "Who took him down?"

"I don't know much about them, but they call themselves Nyufalng, and are headquartered in Albrook. Sireck and Edrina's rule was crushed, as was House Virnone's on Tzen."

"Wow. I'm amazed. This…Nyufalng…must be very powerful." Again I spoke the truth. "Are they ruling in the Duke place?"

"No. Not at all." The woman grabbed a dark green watering can and showered some roses. "We're building a local government guild here in town, who'll take charge shortly. The Nyufalng promised not to bother us if we didn't interfere with their business."

It was time for our new tactic. Our skepticism in Tzen got us nowhere. "How generous of them," I stated flatly, betraying no hostility towards the paramilitary group. We'd act trusting, just as the local was.

"Strange," said Locke, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. "I've never heard of this Nyufalng group. When you told us Maranda was liberated, my first guess was that King Edgar Figaro and his Returners carried out the heroics."

The watering can fell from the woman's grasp. "Seriously? You'd use 'Returners' and 'heroics' together in a positive context? Are you for real?"

Trust of the Nyufalng was expected, so animosity toward us would naturally follow suit. If Locke was surprised, he concealed it perfectly. "They did defeat Palazzo, did they not?"

"To what end?" The caretaker picked up her watering can, sprinkling a row of tulips. "Yes, they killed him and his monsters, but _after_ all the damage was done. Gestahl's bid for peace was a bluff, and they fell right into it, giving Palazzo that crucial chance to turn our world upside down. They played the part of decency, under the pretext of sparing life." She stopped and took a breath. "When Kefka took power, my small hometown suffered a massive earthquake that leveled it completely. Our teenage daughter was upstairs and couldn't flee in time. I watched my only child get crushed under falling timber. I gripped her hand as she squeezed one last time, and saw her eyes close, never to open again. Sparing Life? Fuck all that shit. Their idiocy allowed my child's death."

Locke and I grimaced at each other while the local watered more flowers, oblivious to our unspoken message. We'd been called out on doing something right, following the rules of engagement and negotiating a peace treaty.

We could lament over past failures later. Right now, we had to keep this woman talking. "I'm sorry for your loss. We also lost friends to Kefka's wrath." I didn't mention Leo Christophe by name, but my truthful example might lend this woman some empathy, and extend the discussion. "We've moved on since that time."

"You didn't have Duke Sindreo bearing down your throat right after Kefka's fall." The woman looked up, no longer watering. "The Returners did nothing to stop him from taking over. Yes, he couldn't lead overseas ventures to save his life, but right here, the bastard enforced his will, threefold. All while Edgar and pals enjoyed the spoils of fame in their comfy stardom. The Duke's malice never crossed their minds. Their reasons for killing Palazzo were definitely not in our best interests." She sighed, vented. "Maybe now, I can finally pick up the pieces and move on."

"Returners are flawed, from what I've heard. Calling out their imperfections like so is merely common sense." Locke played along some more. "If you were in their shoes and got Gestahl's bid for peace, what would you have done?"

"The realistic thing," said the women without pause. "The Nyufalng tactic. Entered Vector in the wake of the esper assault, searched out the Emperor and his loyalists, and cut them to pieces. Opportunities like that are very rare, so exploit the hell out em' when they arise. So what if it violates the rules? Who makes the goddamned rules? Control freaks who break them before anyone else. It's all a scam."

"That's…a sound a plan." Locke superficially endorsed the woman's incivility, to earn her trust for the moment.

"I've another plan as well. I'll head to Albrook and meet these Nyufalng in person. I'll join their ranks and take up their cause." She brushed strawberry blonde hairs from her eyes. "Too many people…or should I say _things_…live in this world, yet they've no right to such. If they aren't obvious control freaks like the Duke or the Empire, they're planning to become the next one, talking all this shit about righteousness and what not, expecting entitlement for their humility, claiming to know what's best for everyone else, seeking to steal our freedoms in the name of chivalry. This world has suffered enough. Spare life too much, and it's no longer worth living."

Her words carried no hesitation. Her tone bore not the slightest doubt. Had she reached this conclusion naturally, or had the Nyufalng poisoned her mind? After we'd introduced ourselves just hours after they killed the Duke, they'd surely seek out new recruits in the lands they 'liberated'. Poisoning the minds of the good people. It seemed the Nyufalng were very proficient at such.

Or were they? Surely a good person wouldn't so easily buy such draconian intolerance. Maybe our new enemies were simply bringing out the darker sides of average people, people who internally sought to corrupt themselves. The Nyufalng simply provided a chance for such.

No, it wasn't just that. These people were disillusioned. From what? The answer hit me like an invisible war club.

They were disillusioned from us, from the Returners, the very people who claimed to protect them. They didn't see us in that limelight anymore. We all collectively believed peace was within our grasp upon negotiating with Gestahl. It was the right thing to do, and we all agreed to it. Right was right, regardless of consequence.

Yet there was consequence. This woman's teenage daughter suffered it, as did so many around the world. Kefka and Gestahl used us, and we didn't realize this until it was too late. Would an uncivilized Nyufalng tactic really have prevented the great collapse? Could killing off the surrendering Imperials really have helped the world?

Our blindness didn't end in the wake of global destruction. We so thought world peace would be imminent upon Kefka's death. Yes, it was tranquil up in Figaro until recently, but this continent had been a no man's land between three warlords for the last three years, each seeking to replace Gestahl as global ruler. In our heroism, we'd been negligent, and these people paid dearly.

The Nyufalng were evil, but they hadn't done a damn thing to poison these peoples' minds. We had, in our ignorance, and our righteous beliefs and behavior. These people were willing to shed their goodness to survive. How many of them had already done so?

My knees got weak, my throat dried up, and my head was spinning from all these revelations. I knew what was happening, and I didn't want to blow my cover here in public. In fact, I couldn't even permit Locke to bare witness. "Ma'am, would you happen to knew where the nearest restroom is?"

She pointed behind her at the steps of the marble-clad building. "Go up the stairs, through the double doors, and take a right."

I thanked her and walked toward the structure. Halfway there, I broke into a run. I didn't know if I could hold this back until I reached privacy. Control remained, until it wasn't needed. The bathroom was a single-person stall. I had even more privacy, and could lose myself in full.

We weren't heroes, not to everyone. Our virtues were anything but. The good people were starting to lose that innocence, willingly. The Nyufalng didn't have to spread their distrust of the Returners. Such distrust was prevalent already.

I fell my knees, gasped heavily, and broke down.


	3. Dangerous Prey

**Chapter 3: Dangerous Prey**

My breakdown in the restroom would remain a secret. I wouldn't say a word about it to Locke, lest I provide a chance for distraction. To think about it like so was distracting for myself, so I dried my eyes and left the restroom.

While I'd been gone, Locke kept chatting with the groundskeeper. "You're somewhat knowledgeable of the liberators," he claimed as I approached. "But you've admitted knowing too little. Is there anyone in town who might know more, so we can better acquaint ourselves with the _real_ saviors?"

The woman sprinkled water on some bright orange poppies in the flower bed. "You know, as a matter of fact, there's a local Nyufalng contact living someplace west of here, in some apartment complex bordering a major commerce plaza. I spoke with her a few times. That's how I learned what I just told you." She moved the watering can to cover some lilies. "You should speak with her, when she's not busy that is. She's kind of her own local celebrity, but she's just one of their contacts. Others share the fame now and then."

"What's her name?" I asked the most natural, obvious question.

The groundskeeper looked up, smiling. "Tia Dargiane. She worked slave labor in the Duke's palace. That's how she uncovered a shitload of info that passed to the Nyufalng in Albrook. When the Duke was killed, she revealed herself as a local contact, verifying the Duke's killers were legit, and could be taken at their word."

By now, such use of the term 'legit' was expected, and somehow didn't aggravate me as it had earlier. "Tia Dargiane," I repeated. "She lives west of here?"

"I just know she frequents the said commerce plaza," explained the caretaker, emptying the water on some daisies. "But if you ask around, you'll find her, sooner or later."

"Right. Will do." Locke pointed behind us, toward this local Nyufalng mole. "Have good day Ma'am. Thanks for all the intel."

"Take care. Good lucking finding Tia." The woman waved and departed for the tower behind her.

As we moved west through the streets of Maranda, Locke observed my apprehension. "Celes, are you okay?"

Again, the sobbing episode would remain my secret. "Sure, Locke, as 'okay' as I could be in the midst of hostile territory while travelling in disguise." While Maranda wasn't officially siding with the Nyufalng, we'd already learned how much the locals were sharing the militants' distrust and animosity for the Returners. "So, while I was in the can, what did I miss from your talk with the woman?"

"I just said how inspired I was to make a difference in the world, a difference that's needed." He didn't speak too softly, as recalling his discussion didn't expose our identities or purpose for being here. "She told me how empowering it is that even a small town, average nobody like herself can achieve greatness and incite revolution. Guess who fed her that lesson."

"Is their name a Jrysthovuhn word that starts with N?" I joked. "That's not a bad message, to be honest." In truth, it was a very positive message, a positive message spread by a group with deeply negative intentions. The Nyufalng's ideas were contagious.

"Tell me about it." Locke took a deep breath. "No, on second though, don't. Let's just find Tia Dargiane. We'll plan our next step after speaking with her."

"Right. In fact, despite the time passing since our last visit, I do recall a plaza linked to some apartments. And both establishments are to the west." I kept pace with Locke. "If that's the location, we'll start searching there."

It was a lengthy walk, a mile and a half, maybe two miles. With no Marandan currency, stagecoaches weren't an option. Still, memory served me well. It wasn't long before we came upon the plaza, a large, tan building with business signage on the outside. Behind it was a taller building, its windows shaped and arranged uniformly to one another, as was typical in a residential dwelling.

"Okay, we're here. Now what?" Locke gazed at the entry doors to various businesses. "Where to begin the search? We have no visual description of this woman."

"Look for a crowd. Remember, the groundskeeper said Tia's a local star." Though we didn't a get a description of Tia's appearance, we got a general rundown of her local status and regular activity.

We entered through a floral shop. It wasn't large, so a gathering within was unlikely. Doors in the back led to the interior hallway, so we left the shop. A glance down both directions of the corridor revealed no crowds. Maybe she was out, or the crowds were elsewhere, chatting with other contacts the groundskeeper had referenced. This wasn't discouraging though. There were plenty of places to explore.

Once such place looked very promising, a large billiard hall with over a dozen pool tables. A place for leisure and socializing, Tia probably entertained many locals in here. We approached the front desk. "Good day. We're looking for Tia Dargiane, a local Nyufalng contact," I said to woman behind the counter. "She a regular here, so we've been told."

A hand came down upon my right shoulder, and a voice sounded behind me. "Good word travels fast, again."

She stood shorter than me, a little over petite height. Her blonde hair came down just below her collarbone, with the bangs cut straight across her forehead. Wavy ends suggested a recent trim. She wore leather strap-on sandals, loose dark-washed jeans, and a fuchsia-colored blouse tied closed in the front. Her appearance was more in line with a model than the typical hard-ass the Nyufalng would employ. But as a mole, her looks probably lent themselves to such objectives. And being a Nyufalng member, she was easily more than she appeared.

Tia placed a hand on each of our shoulders. "Well, since you know me, might I have your names?" We provided pseudonyms. She was convinced, and said, "Let me guess. You've been craving this face-to-face for weeks now."

"Actually no, replied Locke, with honesty and enthusiasm. "We've been living aboard for quite some time, and word of the Duke's death brought us back here. We asked around, curious who to thank for freeing our city-state, and were told about you, and that you're a regular around these parts."

The woman shrugged. "Is that so? Well, what say we chat over lunch? I was just on my way to a place around here."

"We've already eaten, but we'll be happy to join you nonetheless," I offered. We didn't have money to pay for meals, and I felt Tia would be more open if we didn't ask her to buy us food, as she didn't offer. And we'd already eaten before departing the airship. Hunger wasn't a problem.

Tia led us out the pool hall and down the plaza hub, stopping at a door with a horizontal stained glass window. It contained an elliptical star burst design composed of abstract shapes, a common feature of Marandan design aesthetic. As our unofficial hostess, Tia held the door and gestured inside. She was greeted by name, and asked for a table near a window.

I slid into the booth, Locke sliding up next to me. Tia sat down across from us, picking up the menu. "I'll presume you've got a million questions filling your heads right now. Pick a starting one, and ask away."

"First things first," I announced. "We don't know a thing about this Nyufalng group." We planned it like this. If we suggested total ignorance, we'd get more complete answers. As it was, we didn't know enough about our new enemies. "Are they some Albrooker resistance movement?"

"Not quite. Their focus extends beyond Albrook." Tia flipped through pages of the leather-bound menu book. She proceeded to explain what Leonard had already told us. The Nyufalng was a Jrysthovuhn secessionist movement that started with the intention of overthrowing Jrysthovuh's ruling Council. They still lacked the means to do that, for reasons Tia herself did not disclose. She said the Nyufalng had expanded their objective to overthrow all undesirable governments as needed. She mentioned nothing that was 'divine'. That puzzle piece remained elusive.

The server came for the meal orders. Though Locke and I refused, we still got glasses of water. Tia ordered and the waiter collected the menus. I took a drink. "So how'd you meet the Nyufalng, and become one of them?"

"Quite by happenstance, about a year and a half back." The woman beamed at the memory. "One of the Duke's young cadets was looking to break his cherry and gain a rank, by kidnapping and raping a woman who might serve as a concubine for Sindreo. Guess who the rookie chose." She smirked. "The motherfucker saw me in the streets and grabbed my wrist. When I tried escaping, he belted me and shoved me against the wall. I spit in his face, and tore out one of his earrings. That bought me a second to get away. He was after me in an instant, yelling that I was property of the Duke. I grabbed a fallen tree branch and was ready to shove it up his back end. Then a strange weapon came out of nowhere and pegged his thigh. He fell down, and a mysterious soldier approached, with a friendly greeting and a fantastic offer."

"A Nyufalng recruiter?" guessed Locke, taking a sip.

"Yeah. They had agents in town that day, on that very street where I was attacked. The Nyufalng guy saw my fight, was impressed with my spirit, and gave me a minimal rundown of 'some organization'. And then I broke _my_ cherry, to learn more?"

"How?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know.

"I beat the Duke's rookie to death with the tree branch, but not before stabbing both butt cheeks with the sharpened tip." Tia sipped her water. "He was only my first kill."

Proudly and openly, Tia Dargiane admitted to viciously killing a wounded man, a follower of Duke Sindreo, but still a man who'd lost combatant status. She hid nothing of her deed, or her lack of regrets. This lack of secrecy spoke volumes about how casual our news enemies were. And like she said, that man was only her first prey.

"So you killed the man and became a Nyufalng rookie yourself?" I asked.

"Pretty much, yes. But I'm not so much the rookie anymore." The Nyufalng insider looked up, as her meal was brought out, a meat ball soup, cheese and chicken pasta noodles, and a tall icy glass of root beer. She grabbed a fork and started on the noodle heap.

"I'd like some names, for reference. Who's in charge of the Nyufalng?" asked Locke, despite knowing already. Tia provided the same two names Leonard gave us upon his rescue, Ruqojjen Kagasjori and Yithadri Juyolahriss, a High Shenthaxa and Honored Shamaness respectively. So far, her responses were consistent with Leonard's discoveries.

"What did the Nyufalng accomplish while assaulting the Duke's forces?" I asked, not knowing this answer. "Duke Sindreo was formidable, so I'm curious how you folks brought him down."

"We fucked with him, a lot." Tia licked sauce from her lips. "A slave ship that stormed the fishing town Lagione was intercepted by the High Shenthaxa and his leading minions. They slaughtered the troops on board, imprisoned the crew, and rescued the slaves, many of whom joined the cause, if they were smart." She drank some cola. "Shortly after butchering Tzen's House Virnone, they set their sights on the Duke. One of his lead minions, Major Gail Ardevina, took a squad of troops to the village of Asniele to collect a metallurgy shipment. Only one man returned, claiming Gail and her company were killed off by bandits from the east. It struck and nerve, and the Duke sent a boatload of troops to the Albrooker town of Lenshelgh, to investigate."

"I can only guess who those 'bandits' really were," Locke mused.

"It worked." Tia dug into her soup. "He took the bait and underestimated our welcoming committee. He knew his foes were a major threat to his pseudo supremacy, and started a land march next. After stopping that, some high-ranking Nyufalng came here, to one of the factories, and started a successful slave revolt. Some of the Duke's minions were killed by factory machines, so the story went. I wasn't there to see it, but thanks to info I learned and shared with HQ, I helped make it happen."

"A proper reward for hard work," I said, drinking my water, masking my disgust. While she spoke, Tia was grinning, presuming her sadistic joy was the status quo. That was horrifyingly true, for the Nyufalng. My gut feeling said we'd barely scratched the surface of what this organization could do, and what they'd done already, while enjoying themselves.

Locke drank some water and popped his question, one that would test his theory about a Nyufalng mole operating up in Narshe. "You've got an impressive network of contacts around here. I must ask, have you insiders in other towns? What have they pulled off?"

Tia's spoon scraped the bottom of her cup. "To be honest, I don't know the specifics. We Marandan moles communicate with each other, and with HQ. What moles in other towns do is rarely shared with us, unless it concerns us. We have people in Tzen, but I couldn't give names or provide details." She jabbed the fork into more noodle pieces. "If you're that curious, you should talk to my partner."

"Another insider?" asked Locke, finishing his drink.

"Indeed, and my 'superior', for she was working undercover before me, and helped show me some ropes." Tia cleaned her plate and downed the last of her drink. "Her name is Mona Felconze, and she'll probably agree to meet you and answer further questions. She too has enjoyed local stardom."

"Perfect," Locke stated. "I'd love to meet the whole crew, if possible.

When the server came for our utensils, and plates, Tia reached into her jeans pocket and paid the bill. Our water was free, so she only paid for herself. "I must be off," she announced. "Work starts soon."

"Work?" Locke's eyes and mouth opened. "But…the Duke is dead."

"Clever." Tia tossed hair off her shoulder. "I help manage an art gallery. I'll talk with Mona tonight. Can you meet at the billiard hall tomorrow?"

We agreed on a time and place to meet Tia and her partner. She gave us each a handshake and left the restaurant. We departed moments later. "So…what do you think?" I asked Locke in a hushed voice.

"I'm eager to meet more Nyu-folks." His name joke didn't reflect his tense voice. "But I'm so glad that woman was forthcoming. Maybe we'll at last confirm my suspicion." He leaned closed to me. "We'll discover if a Nyufalng mole is still lingering up north, and get a name, if we're lucky."

"Right," I agreed. There was no question if there had ever been a Nyufalng operative amid Edgar's domain. Leonard's kidnapping was proof of such. Where was this operative now, and who was this person? My best guess was a derelict from Narshe who despised Leonard's family for personal reasons, someone who managed to link up with the Nyufalng and suggest the kidnapping. Only someone familiar with the mining town would know of its widespread hatred of the Gurosawn lineage.

This wasn't the only burning question, just one of them. Tia bought into our charade, so we had a chance to get answers.

_change in s & n_

"Was it them, you think?" I asked Dyal'xern. "It could've been some of their associates whom we don't know about."

The Air-smasher swiveled his drinking glass and looked over the palace balcony rail. His thigh and abdominal wounds, inflicted by the Figaroan King's lance, were fully healed the day after the clash. "Jim said they were a young couple, nothing more. They wore a hat and a scarf, so he didn't get the best look at their faces."

I dipped my bread heel into my soup cup. Jim Canavielle was our primary contact in Tzen, thanks to his job in a munitions factory overseen by the fallen House Virnone. He provided food and lodging when Baokiydu, myself, and the late Corporal Ambrose Guellad went undercover in Tzen's domain. The previous day, Jim and some of his factory colleagues were enjoying free time at a Tzenish bar when a young couple walked in, asking about the House's defeat, and those who caused it. Jim's work pals didn't reveal much about us, but they did endorse our practices and mindsets. The couple however, wasn't buying it. They were skeptical, and while they showed no signs of blatant opposition, they were definitely not impressed with our methodologies.

Jim's peers thought nothing of this criticism, but he didn't brush it off so casually. After the Narshe Coward was rescued, we radioed Jim's place to brief him on the clash, and how the enemy would learn about our business down on this continent. Knowing this, the skeptics at the bar invoked his suspicions.

"The guy had short brown hair, the woman had long blonde hair." Dyal'xern sipped his martini. "Aside from that and their untrusting attitudes, they were pretty generic."

"What better way to blend in," I mused. Had Jim not overheard them, they'd have been forgotten completely. In any other time, they'd have been shrugged off as random skeptics, but occurring so soon after the hypocrites dropped in the save the Narshe Coward, we couldn't blow off the more sophisticated possibilities. Our move in response was obvious. "Does Morris have updated objectives on his end?"

Communicating with Morris was not exactly conventional. We couldn't initiate contact without potentially jeopardizing his mission. Instead, he would periodically check in from his end, contacting us to provide updates and ask questions regarding his objectives.

"Funny you ask Ajalni." Dyal'xern sipped his wine. "He checked in later that same day, and yes, he was briefed with additional tasks." The Air-smasher had been present in the radio room when Morris's last transmission came through. "What he learns will determine our next course of action. He'll contact us when he gets the info, and when circumstance permits."

"Right." I chewed on the bread heel. We had a lot of faith in Morris, and he knew it. His present circumstance was his idea from the beginning. He'd come through, once again. "I must admit they're some clever motherfuckers. We beefed up our security here in Albrook, but I never presumed they'd try asking around Tzen, a city-state that's not allied with us."

"Clever, but fucking cheap asses." Dyal'xern glared, more than a little butt-hurt. "Hat and coat for him, dress and scarf for her, the exact same disguises Sdalsyra and I wore in Asniele and the Marandan factory."

Asniele. The factory in Maranda's capital…

_change in s & n_

"The sound of waves, the scent of seafood, the noises of harbor industry…man, what a place." Joe was ranting about his vacation in South Figaro. He'd returned a while ago, but hadn't seen some of us until now.

Relm sat back on the dojo's periphery bench. "I was actually there once. One of our classes boarded a ferry and spent a day at one their aquatic galleries. If you want sea life as drawing subjects, it's an artist's haven."

The jewel peddler faced me. "So Terra, what's your take on King Edgar's main harbor town?"

I shrugged. "It's a town, a hi-tech industrial center like Narshe, but with fishing and port trade as its main assets, not mining and minerals."

"Sounds like you enjoyed your vacay." Relm grabbed her bag. "Maybe you'll go back when you have a chance. Speaking of going back, I should go back to the cabin. Gau and I are still adjusting to our new place, and our new hosts are adjusting to us, if you know what I mean. Marielle needs some help with dinner tonight."

Gau and Relm's youth academy dorm had shut its doors for the summer. Because the dormitory was tax-supported and used plenty of water in its bathing facilities, shutting it down would allow more tax money for Edgar's plumbing modification, and more water for the farmers in this time of summer heat. Since school wasn't mandatory this season, many students would go home. Closing the dorms was not a setback to youth education. Sabin and Marielle generously permitted Relm and Gau to stay in their mountain cottage, until the dorms reopened.

That would come soon, so I heard. Edgar's plumbing project was nearing completion.

Relm stood and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. "I'll see you around. Same for you Joe." With that, she was out the door.

"I must follow her example." The merchant looked at his watch. "Work will start soon. But before I go, I must ask, where are Locke and Celes? I told Locke a few tidbits about my vacation, but wanted to say more, and I've not told Celes anything. I've looked for them here, and at the castle, but I've not seen either of them for a while."

Of course Joe hadn't. They were down south, snooping around for information about the Nyufalng. But that was classified business. There was no need to get Joe all panicked with stories of a foreign militant group bracing to declare war on Figaro. "They've been real busy with their crafts vending business. They have new things to clean, new ideas to experiment with, and plenty of potential buyers." I smiled at Joe. "As a merchant, you should know the ins and outs of goods vending."

"Do I ever." He smiled back, content with my cover tale. "More power to them, if they're bringing in the currency. I'll be doing that myself, so I'm off. Thanks for listening to my post-vacation ramblings." He waved and left the dojo chamber.

Gau and Sabin were having a private lesson upstairs, so I relaxed down on the first floor. I was alone until footsteps came from the dojo entrance. "There you are, my dear."

The words 'my dear' were expected from Leonard's voice. We'd grown close now, so it was natural that I'd stand and embrace him when he approached. "Here for a lesson?" I asked. "It'll be a while."

"No. I was looking for you. I have some…idea"

"Oh, a brilliant thinker of the modern age." I winked. "What's on your mind?"

"I feel somewhat…uneasy sleeping at Locke and Celes's place. Not that I feel in danger. If the kidnapper followed me there and tried another diversion stunt, I could just message the local militia. I'm not hated in Quildern." He licked his lips. "I'm just getting lonely, and I feel company's a must. Not just any company though."

"You won't invite guests while the homeowners are gone," I teased, knowing Leonard had no such plans.

"Not at all. In fact, I'm thinking of leaving Quildern and moving in with…somebody else I know." His eyes lit up.

I grasped his implications. My fingers rubbed his upper arm instinctively. "You mind sleeping on a couch? I've only got one bedroom."

"The sofa's clean, soft, warm, and steady enough to support my weight," he confided, his hand closing around mine. "I trust your judgment."

Why not have Leonard move in? We'd known each other for ten months, and we'd been through plenty together. Turning down this chance would be like pinching fate in the groin.

"Sure. I'll get the place tidied up. Not that I'm a slob or anything. But not right now. My lesson begins shortly, once Gau's done training." I sat back down in the bench.

"You know. Celes told me about your chase through Umaro's cave, a chase with some…thing that didn't want you catching it." Leonard changed the topic, for a moment. "What were you tailing, do you think?"

I shrugged. "Hell if I know. I saw a shadow, called the yeti's name, and heard footsteps, too quick and light for Umaro's. The whole time I was in pursuit, I saw nothing that could ID the strange thing."

"You think it was that spike monster that killed the guard in the moogle mines?" Leonard spoke of Frank Maydecker's death, and the unknown killer.

"I considered that, and had blitz defense ready." Images of the shady cavern halls flashed into my mind. "But the thing led me outside to a gorge, where it immediately disappeared. Falling rocks suggested it climbed the cliff to evade me. No human could climb such a rugged surface that fast, even with proper climbing gear. It was a creature of sorts, definitely nothing indigenous to that cave."

"And its being there is equally mysterious as its identity," I concluded. "But I'd be surprised if that thing was unrelated to Umaro's disappearance. Coincidence only accounts for so much."

"I also presume a connection, but for now, we're at a dead end regarding such. A military search crew combed the yeti's cavern shortly after my chase, and found nothing but stripped bones. Maybe he was there between my chase and their search, and left before they came along." I leaned forward, hearing a door upstairs. "I think they're finished."

Gau and Sabin came down the stairwell, chatting about the exercise. I stood and placed my hands on Leonard's shoulders. "I'll have my place ready by tomorrow. Expect a telegraph message at Locke and Celes's place later today. It'll contain my address."

"You've got it all covered, as my personal heroine should," he laughed. "I'll gather my stuff tonight and eagerly await your message."

_change in s & n_

Stucco and marble were the two primary construction materials for most buildings in Maranda, and they came in two colors, tan and white. Locke I passed many such buildings on the Marandan streets. Many structures, both casual and ornate, were being refurbished by construction and maintenance crews, diligently repairing whatever Sindreo Geminsa had ravaged.

"More answers," mumbled Locke as we neared the commerce plaza.

"Careful," I warned. "Don't sound overly anxious. That might invoke suspicions, like sounding overly skeptical did."

"We are here to get answers, but I understand your caution." He narrowed his eyes at nothing specific. "We've gotten this far, without repeating our fuck-up from Tzen."

Tia Dargiane wanted us at the plaza's billiard hall at this time, to meet her fellow Nyufalng insider, Mona Felconze. We came upon the building and made straight for the billiards lounge.

"Ah, you two. Right on time." The blonde woman came up, spotting us before we even had a chance to search for her.

Behind Tia was a second woman, a few years older. Her black hair was tied into a pair of braids. She wore a long-sleeved, faded blue dress with a collar, chest pockets, and pewter buttons all down the front. A leather belt with a decorative silver buckle was around her waist. She looked like the typical peasant woman, the perfect means for a Nyufalng spy to pass under the Duke's radar, unknown and underestimated. This was also a grim reminder of how the average person could be sold on the Nyufalng manifesto, violence included.

"You must be Mona." I reach forward, introducing Locke and I with the same aliases we'd used yesterday. She took each of our hands warmly.

"Welcome back to Maranda, the _free_ Maranda." Mona grinned invitingly. This was a good sign, a sign of trust.

"Thank you. We've been away for some years, and your comrade here," Locke pointed at Tia, "told us about you, and your work with the Nyufalng, slayers of the mad Duke."

"After the Empire, Kefka, and the Duke, one could easily lose hope and faith," explained Mona. "Thanks to Ruqojjen Kagasjori and Yithadri Juyolahriss, we can believe once more in our futures."

Crowds were filling pool hall, generating more noise. Mona invited us to a bookstore elsewhere in the plaza. We accepted the offer. A quieter place was a must for this kind of info-digging.

We sat down at a square table amid the botany books, Locke and I on one side, Tia and Mona on the other. "You had some questions, if I recall correctly." Tia gazed our way.

"That's why we're here," I began, formulating my thoughts. I had loads of questions, but knew that asking too many could expose us. "Tia already told us about her experience in joining the Nyufalng. What's yours? She called you her 'mentor'."

"On account that I joined before she did, yes." Mona smirked. "To the point, I was enslaved because the Duke wanted my sculpting talents. He wanted his image mass produced and plastered all over town. He assigned a non-military slave owner, a palace caretaker, to ensure that I obeyed. I did, but only to buy time while I thought of a resistance plan."

"Did you eventually make one?" asked Locke.

"You bet. The fat ass was looming over my shoulder like fucking hawk one day. We were alone, and I took that opportunity. I splashed molten bronze in his face, and drew a sharp tool for the kill. Suddenly, a strange person appeared behind him, stabbing him in the lower back. He didn't die, but was paralyzed from the waist down. I was told of some organization seeking to overthrow the Duke, and could get more information if I did something."

"What did you do?" Despite my question, I somehow already knew the answer, after hearing Tia's tale the previous day.

"The mystery person gave me a dagger and asked me to kill my ex-master. I stabbed him a few times in non-lethal areas before finishing him off." Mona was nonchalant. "Rumors formed soon after, claiming that I killed the guy. His family started accusing me, though some of the Duke's minions doubted such, presuming I was a cowed civilian, to afraid to kill a superior."

"Did they find out the truth?" Nausea aside, I was curious what Mona did to earn Nyufalng trust, and how she felt about doing such deeds.

"Some members of his family, slave masters like him mind you, became very verbal in their threats, acting like he was righteous and I was some filthy non-believer in the Duke's supremacy." She paused, grabbing a magazine placed on the table's corner. "Making a long story short, the Nyufalng were apt at extinguishing noble bloodlines, as they did in Albrook and Tzen. Ending the lineage of some middle-class Duke-loving family could've been accomplished while shitting on the toilet. Maybe it was, but I only saw the results."

So Mona and her Nyufalng pals had killed people from her old master's family, all for making threats. Granted, her master was no person of decency, but their lack of hesitation in using violence against mere verbal threats had reinforced what we'd learned, to even higher levels.

"Some could argue they had families as well," offered Tia. "Technically, so do the rats you kill in snap traps, and the bugs you spray with pesticides. Nobody ever complains about that. Plus, bugs and rodents don't seek to oppress their fellow kind. The slave master's family sealed their own fates when they opened their big fuckin' mouths, in protest to his well-deserved killing. The less they expected it, the more they deserved it as well."

My pulse rose. I could feel myself getting warmer. To Mona Felconze, killing multiple members of a family was no less casual then swatting flies. This casual, undercover talk with seasoned Nyufalng operatives brought me to some realizations.

Arrogant though Gestahl was, he and the Imperials had an elegance and refinement, a sense of affable charm. These Nyufalng women lacked such elegance.

And their casual attitude was even more terrifying. Kefka would go nuts when killing entire villages, laughing madly as he snuffed our lived by the hundreds. Everything about him was just so batshit off-the-wall, little if any effort was required to separate him from the general population. He was beyond insane, nothing more, nothing less.

Sitting at this table with two unsuspecting foes, I hoped, wanted, _desperately yearned_ to place the Nyufalng in a similar light of mental deficiency. But I knew better. Doing such would only downplay the danger they represented. We'd underestimate them. Butchery didn't excite them anymore. It was standard business. And their brutality was matched by their brilliance. They were too casual and efficient to be written off as insane. In their functional minds, anyone they fought or who tried intervening with their affairs was insane. Leo Christophe would be derided as insane, and the Returners were also placed in a degrading category like so.

The Nyufalng had the audacity to place Leo and ourselves on the same page as Gestahl and Kefka. Were our new enemies purely evil as our last one? After a quick thought on the matter, I realized, it made no difference. I had to wonder if the Nyufalng were actually _more _dangerous and terrifying than the Imperials or Palazzo.

They'd already kidnapped Leonard and Shadow, starving one to the point of near death, intent on doing such to the other had he not escaped. What else had they done? I had to know, somehow. Wanting such or not was out of the question.

But I said nothing. I just breathed and listened.

"Swell story," acknowledged Locke. "An inspiring tale of ascending to competence from the dregs of disempowerment. But lets get back to the here-and-now. We heard stuff claiming the Nyufalng are superhuman, maybe even _beyond_ human. Is this true? I won't undermine the human willpower, but to slay three established governments down here in so short a time span, something's up. I'd guess the Nyufalng have talents that outsiders likely don't."

"A correct guess, vague though it may be." Tia affirmed what we'd already experienced with those flame-tossing mutated troops. That didn't even begin to describe those beings with forehead jewels, those Pung Thoshidai."

Mona thumbed through the magazine. "The Nyufalng have a procedure in which they can replace and usually enhance damaged body parts on someone. Missing limbs are the most common replacement."

Leonard said this was done inside a chamber atop a hill near Albrook. Maybe they could do it here in Maranda. "Sounds interesting. I'd like so see it sometime," I lied, knowing that for every procedure done, a person was either bled out or kept alive in a vegetative state. They were using Shadow for exactly that. But much could be gained by seeing it firsthand.

"Well the process has limits," Tia pointed out. "It can't be done just anywhere. They're done in Albrook, as we've yet to find another place suitable for the practice. So far, they've not found any more fitting locations."

Finally, some good news. The Nyufalng had only one mutation factory at their disposal. They were surely seeking out more, but if any others were on this continent, they'd have been discovered by now.

"What makes a location suitable?" inquired Locke. "And how's it done?"

Mona looked up. "It's rather complex. I'd advise you to see the practice for yourself. That will explain more than we could in this conversation. Suffice to say, it invokes the arcane."

Did that mean the 'Divine' at all? Locke and I agreed not to mention that word. If only the initiated Nyufalng knew of such, using that word ourselves would tip off the insiders that we knew too much, details our out-of-town-for-years cover story would not explain.

Knowing our company had limited time, I asked the most important question. "So the Duke is gone. What's on your agenda next? Are the Nyufalng planning to strike the Ruling Council of Jrysthovuh?"

"Not just yet. There's a different matter out there." Tia's eyes narrowed. "The King of Figaro and his Returner shits must be dealt with. There will never be a Figaroan Empire. We'll stop that before those glorified hypocrites can start it. The High Shenthaxa already has plans for the aggression campaign. With no more enemies on this continent, the Nyufalng can dedicate their full efforts against Edgar Fuck-aro and his lemmings."

_Fuck-aro?! You cock-sucking motherfuckin'…_

I breathed slowly and deeply, looking casual as I did so. "If you're planning to attack Figaro, you've surely got an insider up there, am I right?" Locke asked the one question that had troubled him since Leonard told his kidnapping story. "I'd think you'd have an insider or two probing around enemy lines undercover."

"If so, that person deserves commendation," I pointed out. "Going up against the Kefka killers is not a marginal activity. If reputations speak truth, you've some tough opponents up north." Speaking positively about ourselves, even in third person, helped ease my inner fury.

"You catch on quick." Mona gave Locke a smile. "It's funny you mention that. I've actually heard a few lines about a Nyufalng mole staking out Figaro. Unfortunately, I can't recall his name right now."

So there was a spy amongst us, a man. The clock was ticking. We had to unmask and detain this character, sooner and not later.

"I'm sure he'll succeed." Locke voiced an outcome contrary to our ambitions. "You speak with confidence regarding him. You'll take down the Returner Empire and get one more hero's welcome."

Tia shrugged. "That's a bonus, if anything. The real objective is quality survival, among other stuff. Hero fame's not really a concern. Besides, true heroes, by popular definition, are pitifully inadequate for what we do. The righteous path is a fucking load of shit. Those who claim it are the ones creating all the problems. It's rare that our enemies don't decree that righteousness is on their side."

So they didn't fancy themselves as the unsung heroes after all. Maybe that was another good sign. However, it also meant the Nyufalng could admit they were malicious without regrets. Though to a much smaller extent than Kefka, they'd still take pride in their evil nature. Even if their end goal was respectable, they were still a dangerous bunch. 'Evil' still applied.

Mona glanced at her bracelet watch. "You know, I've really enjoyed this discussion, but I must be off. I've got some work ahead of me, sculpting work, nothing military-related."

"And I must be at the gallery soon," Tia stood up. "Seek us out tomorrow, a little later, but at the same place. I'm sure you've got more questions."

"That we do, but thanks for giving us that many less today." We agreed to a third get-together. Locke waved as both women departed our presence. I stood as they vanished around some tall bookshelves.

"Bitches," I hissed, following up with additional derogatory words for women. I probably whispered each epithet in the book while referencing the two locals.

"I'm with you." Locke took my hand and we left the bookstore. "But we've learned much that we didn't know an hour back. That counts for a lot."

I inhaled some. "Right. I didn't expect this would be pleasant, talking with unsuspecting Nyufalng operatives about their business. I knew they'd talk down on us like so. But hearing it with my own ears is so much different than theorizing it."

"No kidding." We walked past a bunch of locals, continuing once they were out of ear shot. "We're getting somewhere, and fast. But the deeper we go, the more dangerous it will become. Tomorrow, we should consider packing the gear we brought along, just in case."

I had to wonder, did Mona really forget the name of the man spying around Figaro, or was that simply a non-suspicious way of refusing to ID an undercover mole on designated enemy turf. Tia and Mona weren't shy, but Maranda was neutral territory, and neither woman was on a mission.

We'd have to be careful. It'd be like walking on eggshells, asking these women to share information with a few curious strangers, eggshells rigged with bombs.

_change in s & n_

"Another block, another pipeline." I rolled over to face my wife. "The end of the plumbing draws ever so near. You know, you might want to embellish your title. Try…Charise Figaro-Vastelle, Figaroan Queen and accredited fortune teller. Your predictions have become reality."

Charise's eye brows shot up. "Edgar, being Queen of your nation is work enough already. Qualified or not, fortune teller's just not a position I can fulfill…unless you want the finance affairs neglected."

"Darling, I believe that's Minister Larsone's duty." I reached out from under the blankets and squeezed her shoulder. "What if I placed soothsayer tasks upon you? Is it wise to refuse your King?"

Her straight face broke. "My authority is on par with yours, Your Royal Equal-ness."

"On second thought, apply for the court jester position instead. You humor me." I leaned forward and kissed her wet lips.

Though I hadn't received an update from Locke or Celes, everything else had gone smoothly. The plumbing moved down the main street amid the capital's northern district. I also had a chance to spare with Cyan and Zeigfried again. The gladiator provided more challenge, for I recalled his words on the Doman swordplay style. It was linear and heavily-pattern based. The stances and footwork had a rhythm that could easily be memorized by both user and keen observer. It reflected Cyan's personality, until recent, that of a man bound to simple tradition, unwilling to incorporate modern elements into his lifestyle. He'd adapted to the advancing world in most every other way, but his martial skills remained the same, maybe out of pride in preserving his lost kingdom's military signature.

The day wasn't entirely progressive. My latest experience with the Ts'aosra'iy revealed nothing about the Nyufalng's ever-sacred 'Divine'. Was this knowledge so commonplace that it was deemed unnecessary for the tome? I'd have to consult the rest of the book to be sure.

The time for that was later. I kissed my wife up and down her neck. I was passionate about my retrofitting the water utilities, and that carried over into other aspects of my life. Tonight would be a night of…

"My Liege. Come quickly!"

Jerom Frennard's voice boomed outside the door. I turned on the table lamp and grabbed some pants and a coat off the chair. Charise covered herself with the sheets. I pulled on some boots. "What's wrong Colonel?"

The military officer barged in. "Sir, there's a fire in town."

"SHIT!" I bellowed, competing with the urgency in Jerom's voice. "WHERE!"

"The command center. We've a carriage awaiting you, outside." Jerom pointed down the hallway, toward the stairs. I kissed my wife and followed the Colonel outside, where a stagecoach was parked.

The command center was relatively close to the castle, no more than a couple of blocks. Yet even from a greater distance, it would be impossible to overlook the glowing smoke cloud and claw-like flames that reached skywards. The burning glow was reflected in just about every nearby window, further illuminating the rooftops and walls.

At half-past midnight, traffic was non-existent. Our ride from the castle was nonstop. The streets right outside the base were blocked by old magitek units. A few night owls were gathered just before the walker line, gasping and pointing at the fiery spectacle beyond. I didn't even need to give orders. The pilots saw my face and parted their line for my passage.

"What happened?" I asked, not knowing if Jerom had the answer.

He frowned. "It's unclear right now Sire. I only received a message. I didn't uncover the blaze myself."

We closed the distance. A corner of the base's southwest wing was in flames, on the top two floors at least. The fire hadn't spread elsewhere, but it likely spread fast through this one area, and would likely spread beyond just as quickly.

As the wagon came to a halt, a window on the third floor shattered, snake tongues of yellow flame lancing out from the rectangular opening. With plenty of electrical wires inside the structure, the flames had ample fuel.

"Have containment armors been summoned?" I asked one of the present base guards.

"They're coming, My Liege." The man faced me, but my eyes were mostly on the blaze overheard, the fires crackling and roaring as they devoured their prize.

Containment armors were old magitek units that were outfitted with fire-combating hardware. Mostly airborne units, these machines had large cannons that blasted fire-suppressing foam rich with extra-cold chemicals, which deprived flames of both heat and air. Some units could fly in from above and drop loads of the substance downward. Most of these units, being crafted form old military technology, had been stationed within this very base, which had been evacuated.

But certain other units were kept in smaller outposts around the city, should a fire break out far from this installation. Such units were contacted, and were in the air by now, according to the guards on duty.

A segment of roofing caved inwards, with beams groaning low and ominous as masonry wall cracked and crumbled, adding excess dust to the air already filled with smoke. Something exploded overhead. White flashes accompanied the burst. An electrical circuit had blown, with sizzling noise adding to the cacophony.

And yet, one expected noise was totally absent, the automatic hazard alarms, the first thing one should've heard when a fire like this broke out.

"King Edgar. They're here!" A tap on my shoulder got my attention. Cyan was at my back, pointing west. Shining red lights flashed in the distance, growing in size. The burning flames were then reflected off polished chrome between the red circles. Two airborne fire containment armors had arrived, and wasted no time honing in on the target flames.

"Clear out!" I bellowed before anyone else. The fire-suppression substance produced fumes dangerous to both flames and people. We had to bail so the pilots could do their desperately-required tasks. We scattered, passing through the line of walkers, who kept onlookers at bay. The crowds of witnesses had grown immensely over the past few minutes. Some were taking flash photographs.

With a vacant street around the flaming structure, the two sky armors opened their underbellies and dumped the pale extinguishment solution onto the burning rooftop. The substance looked like a faded purple with the yellow and orange flame glow against it. The solution cascaded down onto the burning claws, producing an opaque gray mist and loud sizzling noise as a result. It sounded like a million strips of bacon frying in some gigantic oven all at once. The flames up top shrank in size, and their glow became dimmer.

But this did not end the blaze in full. Another section of wall broke apart, sending chunks of burnt concrete falling to the pavement below, where they smashed to pieces on impact. The topmost flames had been suffocated, but those just below still raged. The armors lowered themselves to line up with the remaining fires. Now they could use their cannons, blasting forward at the remaining inferno pockets.

Within minutes, the yellowy glow had vanished. The fire was out completely. Onlookers cheered, and the armors touched down at street level. The artillery walkers held fast, but let me and the army staff through. The sky armor pilots disembarked, receiving loads of handshakes and back pats from their peers. I smiled, but could not think of celebration pleasantries. I needed answers. When did this happen? How many were injured? How many killed? Why had the alarms not gone off? What was the cause?

Instantly, I realized there was one single elements underlining these questions. I just needed proof.

The inevitable had happened. We saved Leonard from his vigilante execution at the Nyufalng's hands. They knew he'd tell his story, and they'd respond accordingly.

Until I could pass this off as coincidence, this blaze was handiwork of that alleged Nyufalng mole Locke had theorized about. The enemy made their latest move, and it would not be their last.

_change in s & n_

"The heat's on now." Locke whispered.

"The heat's been on ever since we touched down north of Tzen," I reminded him. "It's gotten hotter since."

Though we'd left our gear in the airship for the most part, we now carried it with us, just in case. I had armor on beneath my dress, and my sheathed Strato was covered with a folded umbrella head, the exact same hidden gear I used in Fondanin, when the Zozo gangs attacked the parade.

Locke wore a similar cuirass under his coat. Since his choice Atma weapon was too large to disguise conveniently, he carried two boomerangs and his favorite large dagger, nicknamed the 'Valiant Knife.'

Danger was expected for this kind of snooping incognito, and we both accepted this. But we also felt uneasy for some reason. Issues with the chocobo summon beacons didn't help. They were still brand new gadgets, and not all the kinks had been smoothed over. Yesterday, they didn't work until we got much closer to the receivers on the birds, and then only worked after successive tries. If shit got nasty, we wanted to get out of town as fast as possible. Happily, there was a solution to that. Setzer found a patch of wilderness much closer to the Marandan city limits, a patch that still hid the airship from general view. It was in walking distance, negating the need for chocobos. During the night, he relocated the vessel.

Unfortunately, we'd moved beyond the reach of Edgar's radio reception. Our messages to him did not get through, and if he sent us any, they too did not connect. Though he'd likely agreed about a Nyufalng mole in his presence, we hadn't yet told him about confirming such through Tia and Mona, nor did he know the spy was a man. This didn't really narrow down a suspect list however. Even a real name would do nothing, as the spy would obviously use an alias.

But we could get something, as long as we were here. Tia and Mona had been forthcoming thus far. We strode through the streets again, heading for the popular billiard hall, just as we had yesterday, and the day before.

We arrived once more, spotting Tia Dargiane at a newspaper stand near the plaza hall entrance. She wore her usual sandals, some faded jeans, and a long sleeved collared shirt, deep orange with brown wood buttons. She was flipping through the pages of a newspaper as we approached. "Hello, my glorious mentor," giggled Locke.

She looked up, and smiled awkwardly. "Oh hey. You made it, again."

"Of course," I agreed. "We're always on time to chat about the liberators of our dear Maranda. We're ready for another lesson."

Tia folded the paper and placed it back inside the display rack. "Well, I love your enthusiasm, but today it won't be rewarded." She inhaled. "I spoke with Mona this morning. Her sister took a bad fall last night on the stairwell, and she's contending with that matter as we speak. As for me, I was asked yesterday by an old acquaintance to give some advice on a personal affair. No offense, but we go back a ways. You and I don't, so I placed her needs above your simple curiosity."

"That makes sense. You've got your priorities stacked accordingly, but why are you here, awaiting us like so?" I asked.

"We agreed to meet here today, so I figured you'd come." She tossed her blonde, bob-length hair over her shoulders. "I didn't want you to get here and think I was jumping ship on you, so I waited here to give you the cancellation personally."

"Ah, covering all the angles. The Nyufalng must've trained you well," Locke mused.

"Actually, I was picked as a mole for such a reason," she laughed. "I don't want to make promises I can't keep, so I'll call off tomorrow for the 'lesson'. Try the day after. Look for me here, at lunchtime."

I nodded. "Okay. Do whatever you must, for your old friend. Give Mona our regards too, should you cross her path."

"Thanks a bunch. I must be off. I'll see you around." Tia smiled and exited the billiard hall.

"What now?" asked Locke. "Our next informative talk has been delayed for two days, at least. How do we get more intel?"

"Let's return to the airship," I said into his ear. "We can plan our next move there." We departed the pool hall and retraced our steps back to the city limits.

As we entered the surrounding woodland, I spoke up. "Time's is not something we have. If the Nyufalng are revered throughout Maranda, we should try another city. Tia said something about Asniele, how one of the Duke's favorite minions was killed off there. Maybe they know something, especially now that Duke Sindreo is dead. Insiders might've exited the woodwork, like Mona and Tia did."

"Whatever works," said Locke. "I can't think of a better idea right now."

We pressed on through the woods. It was over a mile, maybe just over two, away from town where Setzer had docked the airship. We soon came upon the grounded freight vessel.

Just as we approached, the door atop the stairway ramp swung open. Setzer came down the steps. "You know, I have a little understanding of electrical machinery. Maybe I can fix the beac-" Suddenly, his eyes widened and shifted their focus. "DOWN!" He yelled. Before we could even comply, he was next to Locke, and we were both shoved sideways.

Something exploded, producing electricity noises. Yellow sparks crackled over the ground where Locke and I stood not one second ago. Setzer was on the ground as well, snarling. His right hand was bleeding in several places, and the flesh was blistered in even more.

"Enjoyed interviewing us for the Figaro newspaper?" A stern female voice drowned out the gambler's moans. "Well I'm happy to say that's one story that will never see publication. Tough shit for you."

I was on my feet before I realized it. I threw the sheath off my katana and looked back at the tree line. Mona Felconze was there, a cutlass sword in her left hand. She ditched the collared dress and fancy belt for plated boots, black jeans, and a sleeveless top. Her shirt had a low cut neckline, and this displayed a pulsing organ centered in her breastbone. It was round and reddish, like a circle of uncooked meat. Shiny dots like insect eyes covered the surface, and they flashed yellow, producing a buzzing sound each time.

"Just days ago, you were snooping around up in Tzen. We already know that much. You can't hide anymore though." She glared us down.

Just as we feared, someone in Tzen got wise to our skepticism and informed HQ in Albrook. Sometime between yesterday's chat and this morning, HQ had contacted their moles here in Maranda with an update about suspicious persons likely roaming around town. Our scheduled meeting was cancelled because of that. "You followed us from the billiard hall, after Tia called off the meet." I gripped my sword in both hands.

"And when I saw your hidden air vessel, my hunch was verified." Mona brandished her pirate sword, her chest tumor sparking its golden flecks of light. "If your flyboy hadn't come out and seen my blast, you'd both be down and crippled. No matter. I'll deal with you accordingly. Ruqojjen can add three more Returners to his blood bank, after he exposes you for what you really are."

I paid no attention to the diatribe. From the corner of my eye, I glanced at Setzer. He could stand, but was too injured to put up a worthy fight. He was vulnerable to capture, or worse.

"Setzer, get in the vessel, now!" I ordered him inside, where he'd be safer. And then, I saw the shadow overhead. "Above!" I cried. Despite his wound, the gambler took hint. He spun and ran, clearing out before she came down.

I anticipated this, for I'd not seen her amid the trees. But there were still surprises. Tia Dargiane had ditched the sandals for obvious reason. Her feet now bore large talons much like those on a bird of prey. She'd almost pounced upon Setzer with them. That wasn't all. As she stood, I could see her shins and forearms had grown beyond their normal size. She could easily touch her knees without bending over, and her jeans fit more like Capris with her legs extended like so. The Woman probably reached seven feet in this form.

But the most urgent factor was her hands. Her thumbs and fingers ended with long, hooked claws, like sickles growing from her fingernails. They probably _were_ her finger nails. "Miss your ninja pal?" she sneered. "We'll be happy to set up a reunion. You can bleed alongside him."

Locke had drawn his knife, and a boomerang was in his other hand. "Motherfucking bitch! You kidnapped him, didn't you?"

"Not me, but what's it matter. You'll join him soon." She raised her talons and charged him. Nearby sizzling got my attention, as Mona was prepping another ball lightning blast. Charging a Shock would be too slow, unless I could do it while moving. I rushed sideways, preventing the dark-haired woman from lining up a clear shot. The only good thing about her chest tumor was that nothing covered it up. But would going straight for the pulsing red tissue leave me open? Perhaps Mona watched this exposed area, presuming I'd strike at it.

Indeed, the area could guard itself. Instead of ball lightening, tendrils of golden light beams reached outwards, as if I was too close for Mona to aim, and she was using a shorter-range ability for closer distances. The beams hummed as they burst out, but they'd fizzle away past three feet or less. Still, if I got far away and charged for Shock, she might aim projectiles again.

I watched her organic weapon, until she rushed me, cutlass held forward. Maybe she was charging up for another lighting burst. I had a chance to strike. Our swords met, and with fancy footwork, I moved to the side once more. Mona reacted in time though, and brought her sword's curved hilt guard against my blade. I pulled loose and caught her forearm just above the elbow, but it was just a surface wound. She reacted with a grunt.

"Not bad, General Chere. Your magitek reputation suits you." Mona gripped the cutlass firm, leading her stance with her left foot. In the sideways stance, her tumor faced away from me.

I held my tongue. The 'General' remark was a taunt, meant to anger me and screw up my concentration. Beyond her lightning's reach, I had a chance for the Shock attack. Even a half charge was better than nothing. I focused my essence into my weapon, mindful of where she kept hers.

She stepped in, swinging wildly. I parried on reflex, and released a partial Shock in doing so. A white tunnel, barely visible for a split second, engulfed my blade. Mona was thrown backwards and lost her balance. Before she could regain it, I rushed in. Her sword met mine, but her face was open. On reflex, my knee thrust upwards, nailing her face. The woman with double braids reeled back again, lips bleeding.

I had to finish this. I shoved her down and thrust my Strato at the beating heart-like tissue on her chest. My weapon vibrated on contact, but didn't move beyond the surface. "Jeer for Chere," mocked the Nyufalng woman. "Did you really think my specialty was vulnerable?"

I didn't answer, and I rather expected this. I leaned back, pulled my sword from the electrified organic mutation and slashed at Mona's face, just as she was readying the cutlass for a strike of her own. The skin split and bled just beneath her right sideburn.

I aimed for Mona's neck, but something pegged me from behind, nailing my shoulder blade. I groaned, feeling the impact.


	4. Assembling the Puzzle

**Chapter 4: Assembling the Puzzle**

I clenched my teeth, but kept my footing. I wouldn't provide Mona with a chance advantage. My eyes were still on the Nyufalng woman with two braids and a pulsing red lightning shooter in her chest. She sat up and swung her cutlass at my side. Anticipating such, I stepped beyond the sword's reach. Then, I found my opening. With a pass, I jabbed at Mona's unguarded right shoulder.

The blade went in, just millisecond before she could've deflected the attack. The Strato's tip went deep, and the mutated woman groaned loudly. My previous attacks had been superficial, but this one actually did something noteworthy. She slumped back down on her back.

"Celes. Down!" It was Locke's voice behind me, citing a hazard at my six o'clock. I didn't waste any time _looking_. Whatever had come around would nail me where I stood. I dove forward and hit the dirt, mindful of the aches in my shoulder blade.

I was back on my feet, facing the hazard. Tia Dargiane had shoved Locke aside and had now placed me in her sights. Her right hand brandished all five sickle claws in my direction. A few cuts were etched into the blonde woman's wrist, but she displayed no signs of impaired motor skills.

I held defensively, keeping Tia's attentions. I didn't look to hard at Locke behind her, now standing and making his wing edge glow, lest I tip off the woman with nail talons. Sure enough, the boomerang came spinning through the air toward its unsuspecting mark. Two of Tia's claw blades were clipped in the weapon's forward path, breaking just above the finger tips. As she realized this, the weapon reversed it trajectory, cleaving off two more nails before she could react. Only the thumb claw remained.

Locke grabbed his crescent throwing weapon in its flight and charged, large dagger at the ready, likely intent on stabbing Tia from behind her damaged claw-hand. Not so. Despite the lost claws and long, bony stature of her extended arm, Tia still packed a literal punch. She made a fist and swung out, back-handing him in the face and sending him sprawling like a rag-doll. Her eyes then snapped back to me, knowing I'd have charged and struck had she given me the chance.

As we squared off, I glanced at Mona Felconze through the corner of my eyes. She was still down, but was getting back up, despite her shoulder wound. A gagging sound came from Tia. Her lips parted, and with a coughing noise, something long and gray came out of her mouth. I strafed and dodged this mystery object. On my hunch, I reached behind and felt something on my back. It was an identical object, a long bony spike. It hadn't pierced my armor, as it bore no blood stains. But it still produced energy on impact. If one of them knocked me down, I'd have no chance to get back up before Tia pounced upon me, as she almost did Setzer.

While I faced the blonde woman with extending limbs and hooked claws on her left hand, Mona got back to her feet, cutlass at the ready. Both women advanced upon me, coming in diagonally with Tia at my front-left and Mona at my front-right. They didn't impede each others paths in this formation. I scowled at these new odds.

"What wrong general?" Tia smirked. "Are two-to-one odds beyond your league? Surely you faced greater odds back in your days of glory." I tuned out her mockery. Mona's chest organ was sparkling, getting ready for another ball lighting shot. "Scared, oh high-and-mighty Returner girl?" Tia spat. "Don't choke." With that, Tia belched another throat spike my way. I dodged, only to hear humming energy from Mona's position.

If this kept up, their combined projectiles would get me, sooner than later. I could evade one, only to fall right into the others' path. I cast a sidelong glance at Locke, who was rolling over slowly, still dazed from Tia's extra-powered back fist. I had one chance to end this standoff. My new attack was tailored for use when outnumbered. If I could just evade the needles and lightning shots long enough to charged it.

Mona's next lighting sphere passed me by. The two Nyufalng women closed the distance, with Tia unleashing another throat spike. They advanced, and I was now in range of Mona's lightning bolt charges, with shorter reach but more accuracy than her sphere shots. I breathed deep. It was now or never. I swung down and stabbed forward, aiming my Shock at the grater threat, Mona's lightning organ.

A brilliant tunnel of light effects filled the vicinity. Sharp noises filled the air, as the dark-haired woman was flung upwards and backwards, grass blades and pebbles blowing wildly around her. Then, a loud metallic thud boomed. Mona was slammed against the hull of the parked airship. Blood spurted from her mouth as she crumpled to her knees. The cutlass fell from her grasp, and she curled up into a fetal position.

There was no time to inspect the damage. Tia, who'd not taken the full force of the Shock, was still on her feet. The Shock hadn't been charged enough to greatly subdue both women. Tia was upon me. She'd leapt back when Shock hit her, reducing the force from the energy blow, and hadn't been my prime in the first place. Her left hand came at me with all five talons.

I raised my katana to block, but the sheer strength of her enhanced limbs caused me to stagger. Surprised and off balance, her knee came headlong into my chest, launching me backwards.

The instant I hit the ground, I rolled sideways, rising to my feet before Tia could aim a pouncing attack. She came at me again, reaching out with her left set of claws. I raised the sword defensively. Her claws were stopped dead…but so was my weapon.

Too late did I realize Tia clutched my blade between some of hers, immobilizing my katana. Her free hand came down upon my wrist, pinning me to my captive weapon. Evasion was no longer available. I could feel her pulling me close. I threw myself backwards, in hopes of breaking her powerful grip, but this accomplished nothing expect pulling her down to her knees. The hold was firm. "It's over General Chere, but enjoy meeting your ninja pal again. We'll have a nice garden in Albrook, growing exclusive Returner vegetables."

Was it over? Would it end like this, out here?

Tia grunted. A long spike, much longer than her needles, burst out from between her breasts. She chocked a few times, as her blouse soaked up her blood. The long needle was jostled, undoubtedly causing extra damage to the woman's insides. Her grip slackened, and I pulled away. Tia's elongated shins, forearms, and fingernails shrank back to their normal size, and the spike in her chest retracted. The woman collapsed on her stomach, her head turned sideways, eyes wide open, staring absently.

The fencing rapier wasn't just a decorative weapon. Despite its thin blade, it had piercing abilities to be reckoned with, and it looked right at home in Setzer Gabbiani's left hand. "Locke was down, and you were facing the odds. Then you take out one beastly bitch, only to get over powered by the other. So I step in, the essential wild card." He held out the sword. "And to think, I'm ambidextrous." His right hand was covered with bandages.

I knelt down to examine Tia, flicking her open eyes. No blinking, no pupil dilation, no reaction at all. She was dead. Locke joined us, massaging his cheeks. "Now that's a power punch, but now she's down for the count." He looked around. "What about the other woman?"

"There." I glanced at the airship. Mona Felconze stood weakly, using her upturned sword as a walking stick. Weapons drawn, we advanced upon her. "Well Miss Nyu-filth, care for three-to-one odds?" She didn't retreat. Blood dripped from her mouth, and her legs quivered beneath her weight. She was almost dead, but not quite expired just yet.

"It's not over, General Jeer. You're still facing immense odds." She leaned back, her organ sparking with energy. We all took evasive actions, but she didn't seem to notice. Her next ball lightning shot went upwards, over our heads, a pitiful aim at best. Then, her legs and sword gave way. Mona landed face down, lying on her chest in the grass and dirt. Like Tia Dargiane, Mona Felconze was dead.

Something exploded behind us. "Motherfucking hell," cursed Locke, beholding the spectacle. Mona hadn't aimed for us at all. Her last lightning shot went straight into the air vessel's turbine, damaging the engine. Her final move was a crucial one, neutralizing our only transport off this continent.

"Damn!" Setzer looked up at the smoking propeller case. He dashed up the airship's stairway door. Moments later, he emerged, wielding a long cylindrical capsule. A hose ran out from the cylinder, and he pointed its funnel tip at the flames dancing about the engine fan. A stream of white foam burst from the nozzle. The gray smoke billowing from the turbine grew dark, then gradually thinned out. When it vanished, the gambler observed the burnt-out engine. "It's not totaled, but it won't last long enough to get off this continent, never mind cross the ocean and get back home."

"Fuck," Locke swore aloud. "We win bout two against the Nyufalng, but victory's inconsequential this time. They were onto us. Surely more will come."

I joined Setzer in gazing at the damaged turbine. "You said it's not a total loss. Can you fix it?" If there was an option available, we'd pursue it.

"Maybe, if we had the required spare parts. But we don't." He gazed into Locke's eyes. "And don't even think about lifting them. These machinery bits are not everyday purchases, and are kept under lock and key. Stealing them won't do the trick, not with probable suspicions and anti-Returner mindsets flowing about."

"Some much for the conventional way," I muttered. "We can also forget buying stuff, since we have no Marandan currency."

"_We_ don't." Locke emphasized the plural first person reference. "We're not locals."

"Yeah? So?" I blinked at him. He was talking in cryptic speak once more, stating the obvious in addition. "What's your point? This isn't time for riddle games."

He sheathed his boomerang and knife. "Who else is around here? Or _was_ until we killed them?" He pointed at the inert bodies of the two Nyufalng women.

"You have a point," Setzer conceded. "But machine parts are expensive. I doubt these women would have enough to cover the price."

"Only one way to find out." Locke knelt down over Tia's corpse, reaching into her pockets. I wasn't surprised when he came up empty-handed.

I paid no attention once he strode over to Mona's body. "What now?" I asked Setzer. "If those women tracked us here, they could've informed their other comrades in town. More could be headed this way, as we speak. We gotta move, first and foremost."

"A-ha! Found something." At Locke's announcement, we turned to see him kneeling over Mona's prone corpse. He pulled something from the right rear pocket of her jeans. "It's not money, but it might be just as good, if not better." There was caution is his voice, but optimism as well.

_change in s & n_

Despite the fire's intensity, it was confined to the upper levels of the army base's southwestern wing, and only the outer edge of that wing. For the most part, the complex was functional. I simply fenced off the damaged section and kept the rest of the building in use.

"Nobody saw anything before the fire was discovered, nothing out of place, no one who didn't belong?"

"No Sir." 1Lt. Paul Edderbricht shook his head. He was among those present at the base before the fire's estimated start time. Since the alarms hadn't gone off, we couldn't determine the exact time the blaze broke out. Given its size when the smoke was first observed, we estimated it had gone for ten to fifteen minutes prior.

The alarms' failure was the real mystery. Had they gone off as usual, the fire would've been less suspicious. Or was that even true? The Nyufalng insider surely knew that we'd be suspecting him or her among us. Alarms or not, a fire at the military base would raise eyebrows under the circumstances. Shutting off the alarms allowed the fire to burn longer before it was discovered. That would fit with the objective of causing as much damage as possible to the building. Still, the facility was not out of commission. If that was his/her objective, the Nyufalng mole did not succeed.

But s/he was still out there, still walking among us, unidentified. The mole would strike again. And the mole was smart, experienced, tactical. The failing alarms meant one thing; the insider had found their control panel and shut them off. S/he knew where to find them, and how to get around without being seen.

It wasn't a guarantee, but there was one chance to identify the mystery mole. It was a long shot, but it could lead to something.

Paul and I walked through the facility halls, en route to a central room of importance, the security monitor room. Here, guards could view screens displaying the viewpoints of scanner bots fixed throughout the complex. There were plenty of surveillance bots. I doubted the mole had located or evaded all of them.

Many bots themselves were destroyed in the fire, but their scan data was still preserved here. I looked over the screens covering different regions of the complex, and had the techs run the data back before fire's estimated beginning time.

Carefully, I looked at each visual screen during that allotted frame. The mole didn't set the blaze from outside. Troops found evidence that the fire started within the complex, meaning the arsonist had gotten inside the building. We watched each group of screens, to no avail. I started wondering if this was a waste of my precious time, but right then, something in the video grabbed my attention.

"Pause that frame," I ordered one of the monitor techs. The video data froze in place, and I carefully observed the image, and its location.

Floor three of the southwest wing.

The image was blurry, given the scanning bot's distance from the subject, but details were clear enough to be translated. A black silhouette was creeping down the third level hallway, using the dimmed, minimal lighting to navigate.

"Unless that's one of our boys or girls, I'd say we've got a trespasser," I announced, pretty much knowing the outcome visualized before us.

"That corridor's one of the storage and maintenance areas," a present soldier called out. "According to records, that area was closed off last night. Nobody checked in with the guards at the entrance to those upper hallways, and they were always guarded."

"That's our mole." I gestured at the image of the black human figure. "Un-pause the feed." The video started up again. The figure crept down the corridor, beyond the bot's field of vision.

"How'd this mole know the halls up there would be empty?" Paul asked.

"Perhaps they didn't, and if that's the case, maybe he or she got cocky." I watched more video feed. The black figure reappeared on a different screen. This time, the mole was moving towards the camera, and I could see more details.

No, I couldn't. This person was clad in obvious garb for snooping and spy work, black pants, matching gloves and shoes, mask, and black hooded tunic. It was the most generic image possible. I couldn't even decode the person's gender. Even their build was vague. They appeared heavy set and moderately tall, but with a loose tunic like so, padding could be stuffed inside the clothing, to give false impressions of a large-framed individual. They wore a mask, so they expected patrols or scanner bots to cross their path.

But this was solid proof that a Nyufalng mole still lingered amongst us, and had set last night's inferno.

Suddenly, the black-clad figure turned a corner and vanished, maybe a dozen or so feet from the surveillance bot. Further observation of the screens yielded no additional finds.

"Dammit!" cursed another troop. "How the hell did we miss that?"

"A good question, just like mine," said Paul. "I'd like to know, how'd this person get around the guard's at the hallway entrance? The only way in was through the doors, doors that were guarded all the time."

How indeed? I pondered that question myself. The best answer was in considering the trespasser's alignment. This man or woman was a Nyufalng operative. Gut instinct said they utilized unconventional tactics, MO's they'd presume would be lost on their target foes.

But their latest target was Edgar Roni Figaro, a man who could adapt and think outside the box. For me, there was rarely any box at all. "This person used the windows, or went down through the roof above."

"Sire...are you sure of that?" A trooper dropped her jaw. "Drilling or breaking through the roof would be _very_ slow, and just as noisy. A spy who'd break into this complex would avoid such a loud, cumbersome entry measure."

"And the window idea makes little more sense," commented a bot technician. "The unguarded windows were on the third and fourth floors. Even with a grappling hook and the proper physical condition, no human being could scale that high, that fast."

"These are mutated Nyufalng. They _aren't_ normal human beings," I clarified.

"I understand sir." Paul massaged his hand. "That gray-skinned woman used slimy acid to corrode my skin and rust the shaft of my giant mace, causing breakage."

"Than you should believe me, Lieutenant." I gazed at the last image to show the intruder. Unless s/he breached the roof at a different point in the base, there was likely no evidence of a breach from above. The southwestern rooftops were incinerated in the fire. The window breach was more likely.

Regardless, issuing an APB would prove useless. Even this individual's gender was a mystery. There was no means to identify this mole right now.

_change in s & n_

"See I told you, give me a sec and we find goods." Locke's whisper didn't mask his pride.

Upon frisking Mona's corpse, he found two items that would prove invaluable. The first was a leather wallet containing Mona's Kingdom-of-Maranda issued identification. Included on this document was her residential address.

The second item was a ring of keys. One of them was surely a house key. And surely we'd find Marandan currency within.

Though Mona's final shot of lightning had crippled the airship's turbine, Setzer did an improvised fix-it job granting the vessel one last short-range flight. We moved the vessel to another patch of woodland, just in case Tia and Mona's fellow Nyufalng moles knew of our location.

"We're getting close." I studied a town map we'd pulled for free at a carriage station, where various stagecoach routes crossed over. Mona lived just a few blocks southwest of Tia, in another apartment complex. "So, what if she didn't live alone?"

"You know my drill by now, don't you?" Locke's cocky smirk drooped a little. "We ring the bell and await someone to answer. If they do, we pose as, service folks, ascertaining how many are home. One of us will distract, another will snoop. Yeah, it's risky, but we have no plan B."

"No we don't." I steadied myself with for an encounter with Mona's friends, family, or fellow partners in war crime as we came upon the apartment building in question. The front door required no key. A map inside the hall revealed Mona's dwelling was on the third floor. Following numbered signs, we found the destination doorway.

"So, who knocks?" asked Locke. My answer was easy. This was his idea. His fist rapped the door three times. I held my breath. If someone answered, we'd have another setback on our hands. Second felt like hours.

Still, no one responded from within. The coast was clear. Locke inserted a key into the lock. It did not fit. Deftly, he tried the next on the ring. That one did the trick. The knob turned.

"Remember, take what we need and get out," I advised. "Her potential roommates might come back before we. Just because no one's home doesn't mean no else lives here."

"Celes, who am I? You're talking to the greatest espionage master among the Returners, and master treasure hunter." Locke sent me glance of mock annoyance.

"Or master thief, in this case. But it's legit right now." I nudged open the door. Stealing form war criminals was hardly a crime. Stealing from deceased war criminals was even less.

Mona's apartment was dark. The curtains were drawn, but daylight shined through the drapes nonetheless. We entered the dwelling and locked the door behind us. If the homeowner was out, the place would be locked up as such. The muted lighting revealed some basic details about the place. There was a single bedroom, and a single-sized bed. Mona lived alone. No roommates would be dropping in. I sighed in relief.

"If she was a commoner, I'd say check the bedroom first." Locke knew his burglary trade. I flipped a light switch next to the doorway. A round lamp on the ceiling flashed to life. "First order of business, the dresser."

I watched Locke examine the dresser top's contents. An alarm clock and jewelry box provided nothing of value. His next interest was a coffee can. He pulled off the lid. "Brilliant. Celes, check this out."

The canister was filled almost to the top with Marandan Silverinos, in both coinage and paper form. Enthused, I looked at a night stand with a single drawer. Opening this bedside piece, I found more monetary notes within. Mona didn't stash her savings in banks, no surprise given that until recently, Duke Sindreo controlled all Marandan finances. Maybe the local guild government would establish its own banking branch. Fortunately for us, Mona didn't live long enough to see that and establish an account. Her currency was ours for the taking.

What else did we need? Maybe we could get it here. Then I presumed that was unlikely. What we needed the most was information about the Nyufalng operative up in Figaro, and we'd certainly not get that while looting this dead woman's apartment. I pocketed the money notes. "We got what we came for Locke. I say it's time we bailed."

He place the lid back on the coffee can and tucked it under his arm. "I'll say. This haul should more than pay for new machinery parts. We should consider-"

A rattling outside in the living room cut him off. It was a unique, easily recognized sound.

A key in a keyhole.

What the hell? Mona lived alone. Who was visiting? Nobody who'd welcome intruders in her residence. As my heart skipped several beats, I flipped of the light and looked about. "There." I pointed at the closet, our only option. Moving as fast as I could without making noise, I slid the door open. Locke piled next to me and shut the door. A bathrobe hung from the rod inside. I pulled it around myself, just in case the visitors looked in here. I espied Locke step huddling in a corner behind me, covering himself with a mass of quilts and afghans. I held still, though my pulse raced a mile a minute. The apartment door creaked open.

"So they're both gone?" came a man's voice in the other room. The voice was average and nondescript.

The other voice however, had traits that I couldn't easily describe. It had some deep resonating timber, and I gathered a slight foreign accent, very subtle and easy to ignore. "Correct. We found Tia and Mona deceased on the outskirts of town."

"They warned us of a suspicious couple they'd been chatting with, and were setting out to track the people in question. It appears that suspicions are confirmed. The enemy was here."

"Where they are now is anyone's best guess. I'd figure they went back to their domain," said that grim voice with creepy vibes. At least the man presumed we'd left the continent. I wished that were so. We were cornered right now.

"I don't know what they learned about us, what Tia and Mona could've inadvertently said to them in conversation," wondered the first man with the normal voice. "We infiltrate their land with a spy, they infiltrate ours with two, or more. Now I'm concerned for Morris."

"Sgt. Tanrevilt would be touched by your worries, but rest assured, he'll do just fine. He's operated smoothly for months now, by his own volition. I didn't order him into Returner land. It was his idea. He's been checking in with us on a weekly basis. They suspect nothing."

That was it. We just got it straight from the enemy's own words. The Nyufalng mole in Figaro was Sergeant Morris Tanrevilt. I breathed a little. Something good had come from this chance encounter. This was our objective, the reason we left home in the first place, willfully setting foot amid hostile territory controlled by enemies we knew precious little about.

But this new discovery would prove useless if we didn't share it with Edgar. And hiding in this closet among robes and quilts, we had no way of reaching him.

"Have you any idea where she left it? asked the grim man.

"Of course. It's in the bedroom."

I tensed. They were coming in here. Only two had spoken. More could be out there. Our odds of sneaking out behind the two guests were next to nothing anyway. If more Nyufalng members awaited in the living room or out in the main corridor, escape would be impossible.

Footsteps on the carpet could be heard. I peeked around the bathrobe, through the crack between the closet door and doorjamb. A husky blonde man passed by, inches from closet door. "I believe you're looking for this, High Shenthaxa."

_High Shenthaxa._ I gulped down hard. My pulse doubled. A bead of sweat oozed from my brow. The Nyufalng was led by a High Shenthaxa. Now, the founder of our new nemesis was mere feet away. All that separated us from a gruesome fate worse than death was a robe, a pile of quilts, and a closet door no more than one inch thick. If they found us, I knew they'd take us back to Albrook as blood-suppliers, experimental test subjects whom they'd bleed out, just as they were doing with Clyde.

White-hot fury mixed with nervous tension.

While the blonde guy moved something in the far corner of the room beyond my perspective, someone else came into the bedroom. My view was minimal, but it was enough.

The man was tall and muscled, standing firm, arms folded. His long hair was jet black, his skin almost bone white. The clashing colors set one another off perfectly. He carried himself with a stance that said, in the most-simple terms, 'Don't fuck with me. If I don't trust you, you'll beg for death when I get you. And I will. Should your name appear on my shit-list, kill yourself immediately. It will spare you a great deal of torment'.

I shivered against my will. Knowing what little Sabin had told us about superhuman martial artists hailing from Jrysthovuh, I felt a great sense of danger, bordering on panic. I had to confess, it was possible fear. What if the Nyufalng leader had extra sharp senses? What If he could sense my fear? I observed no visible weapons, but if he was a master of Jrysthovuhn combat styles that paralleled the blitz, he wouldn't _need_ weapons.

I tried observing the facts, things that didn't pertain to my emotions, like the man's garb and gear. It was a balance of ornamental and functional. His boots had engraved plates over the shins, his pants were the standard style used in military fatigues, with pockets on the side of the pant legs. His top was a kind of sleeveless armor vest, and he wore armlets and wrist cuffs made from a dull black rigid metal substance. I couldn't observe any more. His eyes wandered the room, and for a second, fell upon the closet door!

That glare. I felt things I'd not felt since facing down Kefka. I didn't think anyone else could invoke such an atmosphere, but this man just did. His eyes glowed with some sickening lime-green tint. Did that mean something? I presumed it did, something important. The yellowy green irises were fixed on my position. If I didn't know better, I'd believe he was staring me down. Time stood still, and I didn't know why.

"Got it Sir." The blonde man's voice broke the quietude of a time I could not measure. The High Shenthaxa turned away from our hiding place and walked out of sight...though definitely not out of mind.

"Excellent," came the grim leader's voice, commenting on stuff I couldn't see. Whatever it was, they were likely to take it with them upon leaving, which I hoped would be soon.

Bumping sounded out in the bedroom. Whatever they'd moved was put back into place. "Morris has been fucking with the Returners, you said?" asked the blonde man.

"Yes, and they don't know shit about him." Even with casual swearing, the Nyufalng leader's voice held that edge of danger and ferocity. "Though bear in mind, they're in for a real shit storm that he _didn't_ cause."

"Oh?"

"I'm sure you're aware of the Divine's wounds. Some of them are healed. But one in particular has not. In fact, it's getting progressively worse." The High Shenthaxa strode out into the living room, without a single glance toward the closet in passing. The other man followed a moment later.

"Yes. I'm in the know on such things, vaguely." As he spoke, I could hear the door knob turn. The apartment door creaked open once more.

"Right. One such wound is at the center of guess who. It's-" The door closed, muffling the Nyufalng chief's words from our position. The rattling sounded once more, the door lock bolts being secured yet again.

I breathed deep. We were alone. They wouldn't lock the place if any additional members had stayed behind. Still, I didn't move for a good half minute or so. The paranoid concept of Ruqojjen Kagasjori and his minion hearing me open the closet, even from down the hall beyond a closed door, gripped me. "Are they gone?" I whispered.

"I don't hear them chatting. The door was closed and locked. And we can't stay here forever." Locke's voice was barely more than a mumble. His feelings mirrored my own. But his last point was truth. We had to get back to business.

I pressed my fingers between the door and the jamb and slowly pushed the closet open. The bedroom was empty, just as I expected. Paranoia receded with visual conformation that we were alone. "That was him. The guy in charge of the Nyufalng, High Shenthaxa Ruqojjen Kagasjori."

"Yeah, I got that from the other man's voice. But I didn't see shit, covered under those bed quilts." Locke stepped out and stood behind me. "Did you catch a glimpse?"

I described my brief observation of the enemy leader. Locke had no trouble believing me, especially when I mentioned the lime-green tinted eyes. He too considered that significant. "If you heard the conversation, than you heard the name used by the Nyufalng boss."

"I did." Locke's voice regained its energy. "Morris Tanrevilt, Nyufalng Sergeant and undercover mole. He's the one. I knew it. There's been a mole among us for some time. We gotta tell Edgar."

"Even so, this Tanrevilt is probably using an alias up north. Undercover moles usually do. You certainly would." Locke nodded at my endorsement. "He could be anyone up in Figaro."

"And we got another 'Divine' talk. What the hell is it? How's it wounded?" Locke cringed. "And what the fuck was that foreshadowed 'shit storm' which Tanrevilt is _not_ creating?"

"Whatever it is, there must be a connection between us and it. The man implied such. But we could theorize all day about that, in circles. We have no solid clues about the 'Divine'."

"In any case, let's split. We got what we came for, and then some." Locke held out the coffee can of Marandan currency. "We have a list from Setzer about the machinery parts. Let's get em', get the hell out, and contact Edgar."

_change in s & n_

Farm work had ended. I was back to my usual post-work train ride to Narshe, but I departed at an earlier stop on the rail route. Terra had sent me a telegraph, and the printed message was in my hand. I read the directions, crossing streets and turning corners as needed.

And there is was. Not surprisingly, Terra Branford lived in a so-called 'mini-house' on a street full of similar dwellings, basically apartments that stood alone, not parts of a greater building.

I rang the bell. The doorknob was unlocked from within, and the door swung open. "Good evening Leonard. I knew you'd find the place. My instructions always bring the seeker to the mark." Terra stood in the doorway, clad in faded jeans and a loose pink tunic with a floral print pattern. She beckoned inside.

Terra's house was little more than a front living room, a single bedroom, a bathroom, and kitchen. The last asset was more like a corner of the living room. A small backyard patio was spread out beyond the back door.

"Toss your bag wherever you like," she said. "My home is your home, literally." I took up that offer, dropping my meager stash of packed belongings next to an armchair. She went to the kitchen corner and brought back some glasses of lemonade. I took one and joined her on the couch.

I realized, this was the first one-on-one I had with Terra ever since I was rescued from the Nyufalng's clutches in Albrook. I'd not had a chance to share my feelings during that experience.

Maybe she read my mind, or was thinking along the same lines as me. "Leonard, thank you, for surviving down in Albrook. I was so panicked when I heard you missed a few days of work with no explanation. I knew the worst had likely happened, as it did."

I drank my beverage. "Hey, I'd almost given up. When I smelled ether on my jail cell blanket, I knew there was no getting out. They wanted me in a comatose state. At that point, I planned on jumping my jailor, knowing full well I'd be killed in the process. Happily, the next jailor was that substitute with the armored mask." Referencing my captors and my captivity brought forth repulsion I'd ignored, until now. "That motherfuckin' Baokiydu," I snarled. "All the Nyufalng are dicks and bitches, but that cocksucker gets particular mention."

"You interacted with him more so than the others, so your feeling is expected." Terra sipped her drink.

Seeing her across from me helped calm the brooding rage for the Nyufalng Sensorian. "What happened up here while I was hostage?" I'd never actually inquired about that.

"A lot, not just me worrying in circles. People were in the capital were publicly arguing about Edgar's taxations," Terra sighed. "Anyone who questioned the measure or requested a lowered tax number was subject to mockery and insults by the King's loyal believers. Some even asked that we take their side, and knock sense into the skeptics. Needless to say, I refused."

"And I know about your chase through the cave already. It yielded more questions than answers, obviously." I drank my lemonade.

We didn't say anymore about events during my time in Albrook. Terra was eager to show me something she used when the others came around. Now that she had a long-term house guest, it would get even more use. A finely crafted stone chess set was placed on the round coffee table before us. I got white and Terra got black. I'd never been much of a chess player. By her own admission, Terra was no champion either, but she did a fine job of boxing my king into a checkmate with a bishop, two pawns, and a knight, losing only three pawns and the other bishop in the process.

"You lose when you're not the best on the board," I conceded "and I'm clearly not the best." I took her hand, massaging her arm and the soft nylon of her sleeve. "But I still deserve the best."

"And the best deserve you. Anything less would be inadequate." She squeezed my hand, then gathered up the chess pieces, placing them in the wooden box. "Are you hungry? I'm getting an appetite."

"So what's on the menu for this evening?" It wouldn't be exquisite, but I knew Terra would have great taste in meal selection.

As she put the chess set on the bookshelf, a beeping noise came from her bedroom. Her telegraph made the exact same noise as mine, no surprise since both were made and installed by the same group of people. Terra went to inspect the message. "Oh. Leonard, get this." She came back with the printed papers. "Edgar wants to update us, tonight. We'll catch the train right after dinner."

My stomach suddenly growled. "Okay. One can't pay attention with an empty tum."

_change in s_

Figaro's military command center. I'd never been here before, being a civilian with no military status. Yet, most of the Returners had no such status either, and they'd set foot here multiple times. For me, it was a new experience. I didn't know what to expect.

The burnt blackened stretch of building sealed off with signs and marker posts surprised me. I knew the place didn't normally feature that. But this was quickly explained away as the result of a fire that had broken out the previous night. This was a likely reason why Edgar summoned us all here.

"Good evening everyone." The Monarch's voice filled the briefing room. "I'm sure you noticed extensive fire damage to the southwestern wing of the complex, fortunately contained within that area. The press knows nothing of its true nature."

"Yay," I mused softly. "We're privy to top secret info prohibited from the general public." Terra smirked at me for a second.

Troopers stood watch at the doors to the chamber, all of which were closed for obvious reason. "While the scanner bots in the upper southwest floors were destroyed, their visual data was stored elsewhere in this complex," Edgar went on. "We have some visuals of what took place in the area just before the blaze broke out."

"The fabled 'mole' that Locke's been rambling about?" Sabin leaned up in his chair. His voice betrayed neither doubt nor presumption. He was keeping an objective mind.

"Watch and see." Edgar instructed one of the present soldiers to shut off the lights. He pressed a button and a video screen dropped from the ceiling. A surveillance image appeared, displaying a hallway of the complex.

At first, there was nothing special, but then a black-clad figured walked into the bot's view. "Not very fashionable for your troops, Edgar" joked Relm.

He didn't seem taken aback by the humor, despite the seriousness of the meeting. "No, not for _my_ troops. But very fashionable for undercover Nyufalng spies."

My pulse quickened as I watched the black-garbed figure move about the base corridors. "My kidnapper?" I tightened my fists so much, my nails dug into my palms.

"I'd say so Leonard." The King motioned towards the image projection. "The Nyufalng's insider is hard at work, as you can clearly see."

I stared at the image. I'd vaguely theorized about such upon escaping the Albrook dungeon complex and observing the vast amounts of armed locals roaming the streets. Locke went into greater detail about such when I first told my story in the Falcon, forcing me to confront unpleasant concepts that I could no longer ignore. But seeing visual conformation of this Nyufalng insider roaming around Figaro territory, a restricted military base at that, brought my deepest dreads to life on a whole new level.

"How did this person get inside the complex?" Terra asked, while I was still digesting the news.

Edgar shook his head. "We still don't know. All I can presume is that he did something unconventional, something he'd assume I'd not suspect, something relevant to his being a Nyufalng operative."

"Right. It would make sense for him to..." I stopped, grasping the words coming from my own mouth. "Wait! You said 'he'. How can you be certain this operative's a man?"

Edgar had the lights turned back on. He shut off the projection screen. "I knew you'd catch that Leonard. I have a piece of good news on this matter. I heard from Locke and Celes. They're en route here as we speak. They heard a name directly from the enemy's own words. The mole is named Morris Tanrevilt. He's a Nyufalng Sergeant."

I git my teeth. I now had my captor's name, and military rank. The intangible was become more solid, more real.

"Tell us more about Locke and Celes's venture down south," Terra beamed. I figured this was a unanimous interest among us all. I was definitely curious.

Edgar began at the start of the couple's excursion. They first touched down in the mountains north of Tzen. Upon entering the city proper, they saw signs of battle on the outskirts of the enclosed political district. A new flag with an old insignia flew in the breeze. This verified what I'd learned in Albrook; the Nyufalng had fatally struck down Tzen's old government, and a new one ruled in its place.

The couple conversed with locals, who admitted knowing little about the Nyufalng, but trusted the militants' to honor Tzenish neutrality. When grilled by the traveling Returners, the locals endorsed Nyufalng brutality and vehemently scoffed at criticism of those who 'liberated' Tzen. Taking down the Tzenish government earned our enemies a shitload of endearment, maybe enough to excuse my and Shadow's unethical captivity.

At a dead and, with a belief they'd invoke suspicion if they lingered any more, the couple left Tzen and made for Maranda's capital. This time, Locke and Celes ditched the skeptical act and used the trusting act. Disgusting but effective, this fake endorsement of Nyufalng zealotry served its purpose. Marandan folks directed them to a local Nyufalng contact, who introduced a second one to the disguised couple. They had not one but two insightful chats with the Nyufalng operatives.

However, chat number three was canceled. As the couple went back to the airship to plan their next move, they were followed and subsequently attacked by the two local moles. Word of suspicion traveled from Tzen to Albrook, and from Albrook to Maranda, alerting the two moles about a couple who'd said the wrong words too soon, too harshly.

The Returners killed the two assailants, but not before one of them used a lightning attack to damage an airship engine. Still, that didn't stop the ever-resourceful Locke from finding valuables on one of the dead enemies. He found residence keys and a document with ID and residential address.

"Using what he found on the dead woman, Locke and Celes personally went to the local's apartment, where they found enough in Marandan Silverinos to pay for the essential machinery parts and fix the damaged engine." Edgar paused to catch his breath. "At that point, they heard a key in the door lock. Knowing they'd have company, they hid in the woman's closet. And from here, they saw the man in charge of the Nyufalng, High Shenthaxa Ruqojjen Kagasjori."

The room instantly filled with gasps. "Son of a bitch," blurted out Sabin. "It must've felt like a near death experience."

"But an informative one. The man and a local were conversing, and this is when the name Sergeant Morris Tanrevilt was mentioned. From what they said, he's been amongst us for awhile, presuming we know nothing about him."

"That's where he and his organization are wrong." There was a hint of mockery in my voice, a taunting vibe of a we-know-your-secrets attitude. "We know his name, and his presence here."

"But we still don't know _who_ he is," Edgar pointed out. "He's clearly using an alias. It's possible we've seen and talked to him everyday without knowing it. Equally possible it that we've never crossed paths or spoken with him at all. For now, he's hidden amid the population."

"But his handiwork is obvious." Terra pointed off. "One part of this building is burned up. He can't hide _that_ from us. Or is he arrogant enough to think we won't suspect foul play in the fire's cause. His superiors know that Locke and Celes killed two of his comrades down in Maranda. This fire was probably a response to the couple's incognito activities. He's can't presume we're stupid enough to rule out arson, especially after that."

"Terra, I'm not making any conclusions. He might not realize we're aware of a Nyufalng presence here in Figaro. He doesn't know that we know about him, to be blunt, and he certainly can't know that we've got his actual name and rank. He may very well presume we're ignorant of his presence up here." Edgar was thinking wide, covering various angles.

"What now?" Inquired Relm. "Will you issue out wanted posters and the like?"

"Hardly." The King didn't hesitate. "First of all, aside from his name—which he's not gonna use around here—we don't know anything about him. The image from the bot scan is too generic to use for a search warrant. Next, even if I could put word out to find him, he'd learn about the manhunt, and likely split for Albrook. Yes, that would end his undercover op here, but we'd lose any chance of finding him. I want to ID, nab, and grill this guy, and that means keeping him around, within my reach."

Sabin clapped enthusiastically. "Big Bro, always thinking three steps ahead of the pack. It's a must, against mysterious enemies like this. So, did Locke and Celes learn anything else from the enemy boss man?"

"In fact, they did. They heard references about the 'Divine's wound', a wound that's festering and getting worse. They implied it could bring us greater trouble than anything Tanrevilt's done. Unfortunately, they left the apartment before Locke and Celes could hear anymore." Edgar pursed his lips. "Needless to say, what the 'Divine' exactly is remains a mystery. But they did learn something else, or observed it, to be more specific. They asked me to leave you the message."

"A message for me?" Edgar's brother sounded like a child who'd found wrapped gifts bearing his name in his parents' closet.

"They say Ruqojjen's eyes glowed with a lime green aura. They want to know if that means anything." Edgar's voice was toneless.

"Wha..." Sabin's voice was a different story however. His jaw dropped, and he almost dropped to his knees a second later. "No fucking way! I'm so glad they didn't try fighting him. They'd be dead by now, and we'd not have the intel you just described."

Cyan had been quiet and stoic until now. The elder knight ran to the Prince's side. "What does this eye color signify?"

Sabin regained himself. "In a nutshell, it means the bearer is a real bad ass, one who's successfully blended martial arts with the spiritual arts, and is in tune with arcane powers beyond most human comprehension. It's no surprise for a man called 'High Shenthaxa. He's earned that title. One must have such knowledge to reach that rank."

"What knowledge?" Inquired the Doman. I myself wanted to know. I'd read the Ts'aosra'iy, but couldn't recall the specifics.

"Arcane knowledge," answered the Prince. "Powers that Jrysthovuh unearthed and refined in their own style, concepts long ignored amid the quest to exploit esper magic."

"Powers long neglected by an arrogant nation concerned only for itself, caring not for those outside of its borders." Cyan narrowed his eyes. He did this once before, as though he was criticizing Sabin for having a keen, positive interest in Jrysthovuh culture. For reasons I didn't get, Cyan apparently disapproved of Jrysthovuh, and took it out on Sabin. At least, that's how I saw it.

Sabin either shrugged it off, or ignored it completely. "It is what it is, and it's what our opponents will use against us." Cyan frowned, but said nothing, taking his seat once more.

"In other news, the plumbing construction has almost concluded in the northeastern farming district of town. As it's mostly crops and very few paved roads, it was easier to dig around there and lay the new waterlines." Edgar grinned smugly, a fitting mood as this long-standing task was nearing its end. "Construction will move westward after that, and completion will be inevitable."

Sabin cheered his brother on, while Cyan offered more words of praise. Gau and Relm applauded. As I'd heard from the blitz master, their school dorm had closed for the summer, to both reduce mass water usage and allow extra tax money to fund the plumbing project. They were living with Sabin and his girlfriend for the time being.

As the cheers and applause died down, one of the chamber doors opened. Sarge walked in, giving me a brief glance of acknowledgment before addressing the King. "Sir, I ain't sure what to make of this, but it's good news, for us at least." He present a stack of papers.

"Really? What's up?" Edgar took the documents from Sarge. "Hmm. I see. Interesting." Our curiosity was perked. Edgar looked up from Sarge's document stack and filled us in. "It appears Tanrevilt's arson stunt has failed in more ways than one. He failed to neutralize this building, but his op has backfired in a very significant manner as well. I didn't expect this, and I'm sure he didn't either."

_change in s & n_

Goda-Gorshim held the two-handed long sword. "Ready Ajalni. Here it comes." The Moihzadu raised his weapon and stepped forward, prepping to swing down.

But he didn't. He stepped to his right in one quick footwork motion and swung laterally. Knowing the footwork and strike methods of the style he was copying, I raised my kalsahun shield and blocked the attack.

"Good. You understand the fake-outs and movements patterns of the combat style." He withdrew the blade from my ovular shield.

"I have to. We must be ready for anything. Tia and Mona were killed off earlier today." My lip curled. I figured if Returners were sneaking about in Tzen, they'd pay a visit to Maranda shortly thereafter. They proved me right, and did a great job of blending in. Tia Dargiane and Mona Felconze suspected nothing, until we radioed them with Jim's news of that suspicious couple in Tzenish pub. If they hadn't fucked up in Tzen, they'd probably still here, lurking around this continent.

As we pondered our next move, the hypocrites made theirs, not right under our noses exactly, but pretty fucking close, too close. When Morris contacted us last time, Ruqojjen issued a new, urgent directive. Morris complied, but had yet to give us a follow-up message.

As long as he could move about Figaro turf unsuspected, he was our best bet. However, our next course of action couldn't rest entirely on his activities.

"Tia and Mona died as they lived, for the last few years anyway. For the Divine's well-being, as a means to ensure their own," said Goda-Gorshim in his muted, mumbling voice. "You know the so-called 'outcomes'."

"Fighting will risk death, but not fighting will _ensure_ it." I imagined some attacks from various angles, lifting my shield to guard and striking with my rangamju, altering between the hammer face, talon hook, and spear tip. "How's that?"

"Impressive," said the Moihzadu. "Bear in mind, if you can grasp the patterns of the movements, you can better anticipate how and when a strike will come."

"And he's supposedly their 'best' member, with the most experience in swordplay. I've got something he does not." I blocked another imagined sword strike, and countered with a tongue thrust.

"He's very experienced in a very linear style of swordplay, with few variations. I saw it myself, and copied it with more ease than I did the others' talents." He folded his arms. "Try not get overly-reliant on your tongue techniques. Remember, the relatively inexperienced Narshe Coward removed the tip in a single chop."

"Do I ever. It hurt like a motherfuckin' bitch for a couple days afterward, even after regrowing itself." I shuffled back and swung the kalsahun in some fast motions suited for blocking and attacking. A thrust from the rangamju tip finished this imaginary attacker.

The door to the sparring chamber opened up. "Ajalni. Goda-Gorshim." Ruqojjen joined us in the training room.

"Good evening, High Shenthaxa," the Moihzadu said respectfully. Any word from Sergeant Tanrevilt?"

"Yes. In fact, that's why I'm here, to fill you in." Ruqojjen took a drink from his plastic mug. "His last mission went well, but it produced a new result, something neither he nor I anticipated." He explained what Morris had learned over the day's course.

"Oh fuck," I stated. "It's producing the very thing we're trying to destroy. Like he didn't have enough already." Inept and ignorant he was, but Edgar Figaro had something that Gestahl, Sireck and Edrina, House Virnone, and Duke Sindreo only possessed in much smaller quantities, if at all.

Charismatic endearment. His credibility had waned for some, but had just skyrocketed with others.

Goda-Gorshim rested his sword top against the stone floor. "We know how dangerous they are, even if they're total fuck-ups in all other regards. They have the peoples' hearts and souls, more than we do in some ways."

"What about the Divine's wound, the particular one you mentioned earlier?" I asked.

The Nyufalng chief blinked slowly. "The clock is ticking. The wound grows deeper and wider. Morris knows this, seeing it firsthand."

"So what now? What's his next directive?" asked the Moihzadu.

"Edgar Figaro's charisma reaches far and wide, but there's one place where maybe, just maybe, people aren't so quick to kiss his ass." Ruqojjen took another drink. "And it's not a place on this continent."

There was hope, possibly. "What place is this?" I was naturally intrigued.

"It is..." Ruqojjen started answering, but his words trailed off into shapeless exclamations. "Gnnnnnngggguh!" He wasn't shouting, but I could tell something was wrong. The mug fell from his hands, spilling its remaining contents on the hard masonry floor. His knees buckled, but he remained upright, flexing his finders in unison, breathing deeply. His eyes, tightly closed, suddenly opened. Their regular greenish aura was overwhelming the pupils, which had contracted into near pinpoints.

The Moihzadu was mumbling too, gazing up absently. "What's wrong? What's happening?" Whatever they sensed, I felt nothing.

At last, the Nyufalng leader relaxed, though his breathing was still deep and slow. "That wound. It's throbbing. The Divine's calling out, as if to say 'not another one.'"

"Not another what?" I had no idea what Ruqojjen spoke of, but it clearly happened before.

"I felt it too," explained Goda-Gorshim. "On a smaller scale than you, but I felt it nonetheless. Ajalni, because your soul focus is less attuned to the Divine itself, you felt nothing. Such as I am, I only felt it vaguely."

The Shenthaxa massaged his forehead. "It was like an echo, less intense than last time, but still alike in its cause and nature. I haven't felt anything like it since the great collapse over four years ago. I rather expected it back then, and somehow was prepared for it. This one however, despite being a weaker sensation, caught me off guard."

"Since the great collapse? When continents broke and mountains crumbled?" I'd not felt anything, but was now feeling my own sensation of dizziness. "You mean, that's happening again?"

"Not exactly, but we can't ignore this. That sensation is bound to repeat, maybe with more ferocity next time." Ruqojjen grabbed his fallen mug. "The Divine's vitality withers, somewhere, as we speak. It should be obvious where, and why."


	5. Before the Chasm

_A/N: Just like ch10 from BCYY, this chapter features some third-person narratives._

**Chapter 5: Before the Chasm**

I looked at the reports with Deanne Sarholme. "I'm amazed. I did not expect the fire would bring out this much support."

The lieutenant smiled. "It's a testament of your charisma, Your Majesty. The townsfolk have been paying your taxes all along. Did you think they'd let this slide? If you're attacked, they feel attacked in kind."

Morris Tanrevilt's arson had triggered outrage throughout the city. My loyal, unquestioning supporters were furious, so much that they were naming perpetrators before I'd publicly declared the incident an act of foul play. Word around the campfire was that a 'disloyal non-patriot' who questioned and criticized my taxation policy was responsible. While their knee-jerk presumptions of arson were correct, their over-generalized naming of suspects were not. I seriously doubted Morris Tanrevilt was masquerading as a town skeptic while undercover. In any case, it was not a domestic perpetrator, but a foreigner passing as one of my own, working for a massive but equally mysterious paramilitary faction.

The result of the arson was a huge jump in military enlistment. The reserve troops were volunteering for active duty, and hundreds of civilians were eager to join the ranks of Figaro's best. In their minds, a larger military was stronger, and more strength would name and capture the arsonist. This was not unrealistic.

"I should be happy. I'm getting all these enlistments without the need of conscription." I shuffled through the recruitment reports. "If they become official military staff, I'll reveal the truth, that an outsider lit the blaze, while disguising himself as a local."

"We'd better train the rookies first," Deanne acknowledged. "I'm so glad the reservists are joining ranks. We'll need all the help we can get in training the extra recruits, or should I say, volunteers. You know, this reminds me of my own family line."

I stuffed the recruitment docs into cabinet in my study. "How so?"

She blinked. "Did you forget, King Edgar? I come from a long line of military vets. It's a reputation I'm proud to uphold. My grandfather made Captain, until his honorable discharge. Two of my uncles served in the coast guard until their retirement. I'm a third generation soldier. Not sure if my sons will follow in my path though, despite this new enlisting surge."

"It's all good by me Lieutenant." I organized other folders on the tabletop. "If your boys seek their calling elsewhere, so be it. From the looks of it, we've plenty of helping hands already. Training will take time, but knowing their spirits and enthusiasm, I know they'll give their all."

"Thank you Kind Edgar. I'd like to speak more, but with all this military business, I must be off. I'll be in touch." With that, Deanne turned on her heel and let the study.

Once again, I saw the doubled-edged sword that was my loyal following. While they were outright condescending to viewpoints differing from their own, they were quintessential to my city's function. Not only did they pay increasing taxes without hesitation or complaint, they were now adding to the vast power of Figaro's military muscle. Upon receiving word about the Nyufalng's impending campaign against Figaro and myself, they'd let loose with a storm of rage and loathing. _How dare someone try assaulting the good King Edgar, especially now in the post-Palazzo era,_ is what they'd think.

Again, I needed this zealous loyalty. As long as it kept my kingdom and its people safe from the Nyufalng menace, it would serve a purpose. But I wondered, would the Nyufalng double their efforts upon learning of this new army enlistment wave?

I'd just barely sat down when knocks on the door outside broke the silence. "Come in," I invited.

The door opened, and the castle jewel merchant stood beyond. "I'm sorry to bother you with these small matters King Edgar, but I need a second, trusted opinion about this order." He presented me with a customized necklace of white gold with moonstones and topazes fixed upon it. "Is this a quality piece?"

Though I had little gemology understanding, I liked the piece, from an aesthetic perspective. "Yes. You're doing a fine job on your own."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I feel a bit overwhelmed without Joe to provide assistance."

Yesterday, Joe attempted removing a stone from a casing...with a knife. He pushed too much at the wrong angle, and sliced his hand open, from the palm down to the wrist. According to his panicked assessment, he'd sliced a muscle. His fingers moved very slow, even when he tried flexing them vigorously. It was obvious he'd require a medical leave of absence, for a week if not more.

"You're doing fine," I assured the merchant. "How long were you in business before he joined you?"

"Much longer than he's worked for me, that is a fact." The older man smiled, reminders of his long-standing business putting him at ease. "Thank you, Your Royal Highness. I feel so much better remembering this not-so little detail." Like Deanne moments earlier, the merchant left my presence.

I went back to looking at reports. One mound of paper was shrinking fast, the remaining work for the plumbing upgrades. Very little remained. The pipe crews were heading west at a rate much quicker than I predicted, especially after the sluggish progress they made in the town's central districts. The remaining work amount was decreasing, almost as fast as the army enlistment was expanding. It was almost logical to presume the military would volunteer in helping the construction crews. In fact, I couldn't swear that was not happening already. Maybe that could explain the faster-than-expected progress.

Regardless, the final pipes would be in place soon enough. Then, the plumbing retrofit would be complete. One more accomplishment, and one less trial before me.

_change in s & n_

"Those limey green eyes meant something, just as I presumed," I said as Locke sorted craft supply purchases on the kitchen table. "They're a sign of superhuman powers, like the blitz times ten. At least, Sabin phrased it like such."

Though Locke and I went to Figaro city together, we split up once there. He went about shopping, while I made for the dojo, where Terra, Gau, Relm and Sabin eagerly listened to me expand on our excursions down south. Sabin had words of praise for us about not confronting the Nyufalng leader when we saw him.

"Boy, am I glad we stayed hidden." Locke carried the supplies into the craft room. "From what Sabin said, we were in no condition to fight the Nyufalng big boss. More weapon and soul energy training is a must, without fail." The sounds of drawers opening and objects being placed within sounded around the hallway and into our bedroom. I was folding my laundry, sorting through my jeans, tops, bras, panties, and other essentials, placing them in the proper drawers of my bureau. I finished with the sleeved tops and was about to place some tight leggings when Locke entered the bedroom doorway. "Celes, you think you can handle the shop alone, for the next couple days?"

"Well yes. I've done it before, just like you." I put some tights in the open drawer. "But, why do you ask?"

He took a deep breath, walked in, and stood by the window. "I'm going to repeat some observations that I stated a short while back, ones that got on your bad side when I mentioned them. However, back then, the words 'Nyufalng' and 'Jrysthovuh' did not exist to us. It's time to revisit these observations, with new understanding."

I put the last of my tights away and shut the drawer. "At least you're giving me a heads up. But just in case we're not thinking alike, explain these observations to me."

He did, and they were exactly what I thought they were. This time however, I did not snap or criticize him, and when he added the new twist, I understood why he brought this matter up once more.

"After discovering a particular turn of events today, my suspicion is growing, but I can't confirm anything yet, not from here." Locke stared out the window, at the fence dividing our backyard from the neighbors'. "So I'm going to visit someplace, a place we visited not so long ago, and possibly get answers. The answers are there, if anyplace. It's not guaranteed, but I can't leave this stone unturned."

I went to his side. He was far less agitated than he was when last discussing this topic. Back then, Leonard was still missing. I still disliked what he implied, but for a much different reason. I sensed this in him too. "You're not comfortable with the answer you may find."

He turned to face me. "I won't fuck around in this matter Celes. I'm uncomfortable with just thinking about the implications. If my theory is true, it will clearly illustrate we've been exploited, played for fools by someone with ill intentions, someone we thought was friendly." Locke reached for my shoulder. "But know this. I'm even more uncomfortable with sitting on my ass and ignoring this potential information. Maybe I'm wrong, and won't find any such answer. But I, _we,_ have to know."

"Are you hoping to be wrong?" I asked, already predicting his response.

"That, I don't know. If I'm wrong, the mystery will persist. That's not something I want." Locke withdrew his touch and sat on the bed. "But if I'm right...I've already explained that one."

"I understand, why you're doing this, and why you feel this way. What should I tell the others?"

"Nothing." He looked up. "I can't be certain I'm right, so lets not go spreading shit we can't verify. I spoke with Edgar, who's providing me with transportation. Keep this between the three of us, for now. If there's something worth knowing, I'll update you ASAP."

There he was, covering all the angles, just like he did before we set out for the lower continent. "Great plan Locke. By all means, do what you must."

"Than I'll gather my stuff, and contact the place. They'll surely consent to offer me lodging, given who I am, and my purpose for visiting." He stood up and reached for the closet door, sliding it open and grabbing a shoulder sack from within. "Good luck with the vending booth."

"Same to you, with the...detective work, I mean." He gave me a funny look. "You'll need it more than me."

_change in s & n_

"How did it feel?" I asked Baokiydu. "Was it the headache from hell?"

"Actually, no. It was more like a sudden drastic change in temperatures within my head." The Sensorian chopped at a tree limb with his palm spikes, clearing over growth from around a light post.

The garden of Albrook's palace was probably the one place we didn't alter upon taking the city after Sireck and Edrina's demise. It was an open courtyard of planters and fountains between the citadel's gated walls and the building itself. Little fighting took place here. When the gate was breached, most nearby troops died at the entry hole. Those who survived the invasion withdrew inside the building. The plants and garden ornaments were practically undamaged.

I scrubbed a light fixture clean. "Like extreme heat followed by extreme cold?"

"Sorta. And everything gets blurry. Sounds also get distorted. They echo and get all low-pitched. And my stomach flipped head over heals." The obese pung thoshidei hacked off more overgrowth, sending extra tree limbs down to the potted soil below. "I nearly shit my pants."

"And that's not the worst it could be," I theorized. "I can only image it felt ten times as bad when the great collapse befell the world."

"That about sums it up, though such was expected. Those of us who'd feel it could prepare for it. Since you felt nothing, you were spared the sensation." Baokiydu floated downward, neutralizing the heat energy burst he'd used to keep himself airborne. "This recent pulse was unexpected. The Divine is hurting in that one particular spot, and the pulse will throb again, with more intensity next time."

I dipped the cleaning rag into the bucket and scrubbed the lamp pole's metalwork frame. "So now what? We're not gonna sit on our asses and wait for the pulse to ripple once more, I hope."

"No," came a hushed voice, too smooth for Baokiydu's gravelly rasp. Goda-Gorshim joined us in the garden. "Yithadri asked that I find you. It's time to discuss our next move."

I grabbed the bucket and stepped off the ladder. "Perfect. What's the plan?"

"That's still in debate," said Goda-Gorshim through his masked hood. "But we'll be acting soon, because if that one spot gets worse, The Divine will suffer a greater wound. Not something akin to the great collapse, but something significant no less."

"And it will happen." Baokiydu's voice held no trace of doubt. "That motherfuckin' sack-of-shit monarch is bringing it, not that he knows, or gives a shit."

The Moihzadu eyed the palm spikes through his headgear. "Keep that attitude, because we'll likely greet them once more. The plan will somehow involve joining up with Tanrevilt, and preventing Edgar Roni from completing his beloved project."

"We confront the jolly good 'heroes' yet again. Just what I've been waiting for." The Sensorian's lips formed a smile, curling back to reveal his teeth. "Maybe I'll get a chance to rip that little Narshe Coward's balls off, assuming he's got any."

While he made promising threats, I asked, "Does Tanrevilt know about this?"

"Not yet," replied the Moihzadu. "Like I said, the plan is still in debate. But he will when the plan is more concrete. We should be able to contact him freely this time. He's asking around in a place where he won't arouse any suspicions. In fact, his attitude will be welcomed, if anything."

"Where? The place that hates Edgar Fuck-aro with a passion?" I could already guess this was the case.

"If they don't hate him yet, they'll _detest_ his ass when Tanrevilt shares what he knows." I could tell there was a slight vibe of entertainment in Goda-Gorshim's prediction.

"We'll fuck his life up so much, maybe he'll _beg_ for us to kill him." Baokiydu snickered. "We can try at least."

I placed the bucket on the rim of a large planter. "If we'll get confrontational, I'd best do some training. I've almost memorized those swordplay patterns we reviewed last time."

"Kudos Ajalni. I can sense that your abilities are increasing in their potential after all this time. You're not exactly the sixth pung thoshidei, but you're getting somewhere." I could hear faint laughter in the stoic Moihzadu's voice.

"Well, I'm touched. Maybe I'll feel the next pain pulse from the Divine, as you vaguely did," I half joked.

Baokiydu pulled his palm spikes back into his hands. "You wanna get dizzy and shit your panties, don't you."

"Umm...no!" Words escaped me, on this jovial matter. "Let's just find Yithadri hear what she has to say. Where to, Goda-Gorshim?"

"She's here in the palace, in one of the towers." Goda-Gorshim left the palace garden. We followed him. If he was correct about my increasing abilities, I'd be holding my own in a face-to-face bout with those Returner shits, possibly holding them back.

I trusted his judgment. He knew them better than we did. Yes, Goda-Gorshim hadn't seen or spoken to any Returner in almost four years, but he'd studied each of them, and knew their combat talents like the back of his hand, a reward for his superior mental abilities.

_change in s & n_

The man walked through the city. He'd observed little of it upon arriving the previous day, having spent a few hours traveling. Now he could take in the details more clearly.

About eight months had passed since the sudden, cooperative assault that took place in the downtown area. He'd been here back then, just hours after the massacre. Today, there were few signs of that carnage. Most of the destruction had been repaired. Blood and bodies were no longer strewn about the roads and sidewalks. To the uninformed visitor, no such brutality had ever taken place.

But this man knew the terror and grief firsthand. He'd not seen it happen, but he was close to those who did. Seeing the aftermath was enough by itself. He could sense old wounds as he walked through the streets, mental scars that weren't fully healed. Lives were lost that day, civilians and soldiers alike. Questions without answers remained, though largely forgotten. Since no subsequent atrocities loomed on the horizon, the people no longer asked those unanswerable questions. They wanted to get on with their lives.

But he could not just bury such matters under the carpet, surely not now.

Memory served him well. From his last visit here, the man knew exactly where to find the building he sought. Those to whom he wished to speak would certainly be there. They'd also feel honored at his presence, and would likely listen to his request. He'd require some help to find the precious answers he so craved. It was in their best interest as well.

He was greeted by name as he climbed the stairs, and stated his business immediately. The greeting party looked puzzled. He said it was important, and not something he wanted to discuss openly in public. It was best reserved for their superiors, in private. All too familiar with such business, they let him in the building, directing him to the highest ranking officer present. The older man had an office of his own. When he saw the younger man, his face lit up. He stood from his desk, invited the visitor inside, and shook the guest's hand. The door was closed and both men took seats.

"It's a pleasure, and honor, to have you here Sir, especially in my personal quarters." The officer sipped a cup of herbal tea. "So, what can I do for you today?"

"I need your help, to get answers to long-standing questions we've both asked since that fateful day eight months ago." The younger man was quick to the point. "Why did they cooperate, only to bring on their mutual demise shortly afterward? You must be asking the same questions, Captain."

The aged Captain blinked. "Well yes, of course I did. But the threat's been neutralized. They're all dead. There's no one up there to bring us any more suffering."

"Are you sure? I'm not faulting you for that conclusion, but how can you be certain?"

"Okay, I can't be fully certain," admitted the officer. "But having seen the evidence of their final clash, we can safely presume survivors were few and far between. They're too few to pose any threat to our nation, and would likely turn on each other once more if the chance arose."

The young man leaned forward. "That's true, for them. But, I've been thinking about a vastly different scenario, something you probably have not." The man spoke clearly, illustrating his point in the fewest words.

When he finished, the Captain's bushy gray eyebrows rose up slowly. "An obscure third party hiring both sides, then killing off both when the cooperation ceased." He summarized the younger man's what-if theory. "Who could this be, and why do you believe such?"

The guest breathed deeply. "I'm not completely sure I'm right. But I want to explore this possibility, to either rule it out or verify it, one way or another. That's why I'm here. I can't do this easily without your help."

The Captain adjusted his beret. "Alright What do you need from me and my staff?"

_change in s & n_

"Going to watch the final stretches of pipe upgrades Leonard?"

"Nah. I'll pass. I'm not living here, nor am I paying tax money for it. But enjoy yourself all the same." I wished my colleagues a good day in watching construction crews dig up streets and lay pipes in the ground. Seriously, how much fun could you have watching _that?_ But, no matter. If they wanted it, they could have it.

The farm was closing after half a day's work time. The staff was interested in watching the last of the new pipe lines get placed. I however, didn't share such enthusiasm. My choice activity was elsewhere.

Where exactly, I didn't know. I'd stopped at the castle yesterday and learned that Joe was out on medical leave thanks to an injured hand. Sabin was probably at the construction zone already, and Terra had a baby sitting job for the day. Sarge was at the command center helping recruiters with the new wave of aspiring troops. Everyone but myself was more or less preoccupied, and didn't really need assistance from me, nothing I could offer at least.

No, there was one individual who might relish my help. An old friend, old work partner, and the only Returner I'd actually known in person before Terra's life-saving deed. Mog the moogle.

The last I'd seen him was before my capture. Surely he knew about it, in spite of his increased work obligations. If Terra or someone else has stopped by since, they'd tell him about my escape and rescue from the Nyufalng baddies, and brief him on the new enemy. If they'd seen him.

If not, I could do the honors. And as I'd worked in the Verdsanath mines before, I could offer my services yet again. Over-worked, he'd surely welcome my presence. A train ride from Figaro city to the southwestern district of Narshe, followed by a walk through the residential streets, brought me to the caves in question.

Guards still patrolled the cave entrance, no surprise given Umaro's strange disappearance. "Good afternoon sirs." I clarified my presence right away. "I'm here to see Mog, and help with any work tasks he might need fulfilled. We know each other. The name's Leonard."

A tall guard with a broad axe and rifle raised his index finger. "Wait here while I verify what you've said." He disappeared into the cavern entrance. Five minutes later, he came back. "Follow me sir. Mog awaits."

The guard led me through the usual network of caves rooms and corridor. Various moogles passed us along the way. The short animals paid us no attention, carrying various tools or building materials en route to their designated tasks at hand. After a few turns, I found Mog, sprawled out on a work bench covered in a bushy animal skin. "What's this, nap time?" I joked.

He sat up. "Kup...Leonard! You're back. I heard about your missing persons experience from Terra. What happened?"

The moogle looked harried. His white fur coat was covered with soot and grime stains. The fur itself was disheveled and frizzed in many places. He'd been working hard, and was obviously taking a well-deserved, much needed break.

"I was kidnapped, right from my own backyard. I went to investigate some noises out by my trash cans, and upon seeing a raccoon leap the fence, I was stabbed with a needle and knocked unconscious. I woke up in a lightless, heatless, jail cell, down in Albrook." I explained about the Nyufalng, the militarized secessionist movement from Jrysthovuh that planned to rid the world of any governments they disliked, for whatever zealous reason. I went on about how the Nyufalng kidnapped me because of my father, and how a spy of theirs had been roaming Figaro territory, learning about my family and connecting me to the old man. I finished with an update on the fire at Edgar's command base.

"Kupo. Shit's getting all hectic. No more established governments down south, with their slayers placing Edgar in their target sights next. And I thought things were bad here in the mine."

"The Nyufalng have not yet to attacked us," I clarified. "Anyways, I'm not here for storytelling. I'm here to give you a hand with the mining ops, just as I did some time ago, sans the paycheck."

"A labor volunteer, eh? Well, kupo. You're a big help Leonard. Come this way." We entered a large room filled with mining munitions. I recognized them instantly. Ore crushers, material sifters, conveyer belts, and a smelting vat filled this chamber. I remembered when the machines had first been set up years ago, as fresh shiny gadgets of industrial pride. Now, they were dingy and stained, their clean, polished look long soiled by daily wear and tear.

As such, they needed a maintenance check. The machines had been turned off so a tune-up could commence. And guess who was now responsible for the tune-up. "My talents are needed elsewhere Leonard, for greater tasks. So I leave you with the clean-ups here. The mechanisms need cleaning out. You recall how it was done?"

"Yeah. Don't forget, I maintain the utilities at the Figaro City dairy farm."

"Oh." Mog gave himself a face palm. "I guess the constant work here is numbing my mind. One more reason I need you. The equipment's in the cabinet back there. I selected it myself, the most basic of tools and solutions that only Umaro cannot use properly." As Mog finished, another moogle joined us. He or she spoke to Mog in a language consisting of chirps, clicks and "kupo" variations. It was animal noise to me, but the talking moogle understood it clearly. "Yea. Kupo. Got it. Leonard, I'm needed elsewhere, pronto. Do what you can, in the time you're allowed here. I'll see you later." He and the other moogle flapped their wings and flew out the chamber, leaving me alone with the dormant mining machines.

So they say, a squeaky wheel gets the grease. Likewise, a dirty sifter screen gets the sweeping, and clogged gears receive a clean-out. I went to the tool cabinet Mog referenced and pulled a cleaning rag, a screwdriver, and a bottle with the words **PARTS CLEANER** on its chipped, peeling label. The sifter screen was the easy part. It needed only a good scrubbing with a sturdy rag. The dirty gears were something else. With my screw driver, I removed the screws holding a cover panel in place. Prying it off, I observed the rotary cogs underneath. Even for a machines as old as this one, the gears were filthy. I was surprised the machine functioned for as long as it did with this much shit caked between the gears. Umaro was _not_ mechanically-inclined, so I'd heard.

The job was performed just like it was years ago, when it was my duty. I twisted the lid off the bottle and poured the clear cleaning solution into the dirt clogging the gear network. As usual, I gave it time to sit and break down the solidified gunk before scrubbing it off. When the time passed, I grabbed the rag and scrubbed away...

...only for the crap to remain. What the hell was this? I scrubbed harder, with no results any different than last time. Was the rag too soft? I went back to the cupboard and got a wire brush, something for a heavy duty job. Smaller flakes of shit peeled away from the gear faces, but the majority stayed put, wedged between the gear connections. I dumped more fluid on the hardened shit and scrubbed. The stuff hadn't broken down at all. Usually, the gunk would break up and soften to a jelly-like state by now. Was the solution too old? I capped the bottle and looked for an expiration date, checking from all angles.

Then I saw it, right there on the label itself. I'd have overlooked this detail, had I not been looking for a similar one. I did not find the expiration date, but I found something even more telling. The text on the label hadn't faded completely. Some words remained legible, and those words were enough...on this bottle that Mog had supplied Umaro.

Suddenly, the yeti's fuck-ups took on a different shape entirely. In fact, the fuck-ups were not Umaro's. They never had been.

Did I want some words with Mog. I called his name. The only response was my voice, echoing off the high ceiling of solid cave rock. I tried again. Footsteps came from the nearby corridor. I was hoping for Mog, only to see a burly armored guard walking into the machinery room. "Sir, if you're going to make loud noises and disrupt the work environment, I'll demand that you leave. You'll just a volunteer, remember?"

Did I shout louder than I realized? "Sorry, I don't mean to cause disruption. I need to speak with Mog immediately."

"The moogle is preoccupied, and will be for sometime now. If you want to speak with him, come back at a later date. And don't make so much noise next time." The guard frowned. I was about to address the issue with him, but realized he was security personnel, not production staff. What would he know about machinery cleaning procedures? I replaced the covering panel, put the tools and (out of place) fluid back, and left the mine. As I walked to the nearest train station, I pondered on this new find.

Mog's judgment had taken a pitfall, plunging so low it wouldn't even register on the scale. Finding Umaro was doubly urgent now.

_change in s & n_

He looked about the city, or what qualified as one here. Much time had passed since he'd been to this place too, and much had likely changed since. Those in charge were history, and it seemed like replacements were a long ways off. This was a ghost town, its function now matching its deteriorated form.

It took a day to amass and convince the numbers for this excursion. Many of them had their doubts, and saw no reason to waste their time returning to this near-forsaken place. The man himself was unsure if he'd find anything useful.

Mounted soldiers rode with him on all sides, proud to have him in their company but unsure of why he suggested their presence. The city had not changed since they'd last been here. Trash was scattered about, buildings were in various stages of deconstruction, and plant overgrowth was untamed and unchecked.

"Well, here we are sir." A mounted soldier approached the curious man. "This was your idea, so now what? Where do we look first?"

The man gazed up at the thin layer of putrid fog overhead. It was thin enough to show blue sky beyond, but thick enough to blot out most of the sunlight. "I say we find a place where locals might gather, a place kept up more than the average dwelling here." He pointed at a building with boards upon all its windows. The bricks beneath a leaky drain pipe were eroded, stained, and cracked. They looked as if they'd crumble and fall any moment. This was not a dwelling he considered prospective for his search. Despite having no official military rank, he directed the team onward.

They rode down the avenue, coming to a larger crossroad. Broken, toppled lamp posts lined the sidewalk, their metallic frames rusted, their glass fixtures long broken. A tree branch hung downwards across the pavement and into part of the street, its own overgrowth weight pulling it away from the limbs above. In the distance, a few lamp poles stood tall, suggesting someone cared about their dwelling enough to keep a good appearance. That was a sign, and the man rode for it, his company close behind.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed a tree had some branches hacked off. The trimming was done crudely, with rough edges and splinters marking the work, but it was obvious that someone cared enough to trim back the excess foliage. His pulse beating a little faster, the man rode around the building to inspect it from different sides. It was some kind of apartment complex, and at least one person called it home.

As the man rode towards a building corner, a noise faded in. It was a scraping sound, without rhythm. Somebody was out there, just around the corner of the structure. He slowed his chocobo, hoping not to startle the mysterious person. After raising his palm to halt his company, the man dismounted and peered around the building.

A youth of maybe seventeen or eighteen years was scraping layers of accumulated dirt off the windows. If there was a forthcoming person to be found in this husk of urbanization, this youth was it. The man sheathed any exposed weapon on his person and approached the teenager. "Hey there."

The youth looked away from the grimy window, gripping his long-handled scraper tool like a spear. "Hey man, I'm not here to fight or capture you. I just want to talk." The man removed his hat and let the teen gaze upon his face. "Do you know who I am? You should."

The teenager lowered the tool upon recognizing the visitor's face. "So it _you._"

"Yes, I'm that guy." The older man chuckled a little, before cutting off the laughs. This was no time to revel in amazing reputations like his own, even though it could help him get the answers he sought. "I'm here with a team. They're acting on my directives, sort of. He motioned for the mounted companions to show themselves. The youth didn't seem apprehensive at all. "So, can we chat? You can help me, even if you don't realize it."

This invited the youth to concede, with a small twist. "Sure. Let's talk, inside." He pointed at the door atop a small stone stairway.

The man asked a handful of riders to dismount and join him inside. The others would keep watch outside. The teenager led the visitors into a lobby-like room in the complex. The furniture left much to be desired. The chairs and sofa were stained and worn, with their stuffing exposed in many places. The wooden parts dented and scratched. Still, the articles were passable. The troops refused seating, taking stances around the couch and chairs. The lead man accepted the local's offer, sitting himself on the couch as the teenager closed the door, peering outside through a cleaned window. There was ample light coming in from outside, thanks to the youth's efforts.

"Okay, I didn't expect someone of your character to drop in, so forgive the crappy surroundings. I intend to replace them when I can scavenge what I need." The teen pulled a chair over and sat down across from the glorious visitor. "So, ask away."

The man first got to the basics, asking what the youth knew about the town's previous improvised leadership. It was a stroke of good fortune for him. The teen's late uncle had been one of the primary figureheads. "I never got along with the man, he was an uptight hard-ass, didn't like it when he was questioned, or if someone disagreed with his views." The youth shook his head at distant memories. "But his leadership got him to the top, and kept him there for years. Only one group in town could compete with him."

"Well I'm sure you know they put their feuding aside and struck a mutual enemy. So my first question is, why? And how?" The man stayed composed, but his pulse was beating hard. "It took days to erase years of two-way animosity."

"My uncle talked about these 'visitors'. They were not famous bigwigs like yourself," said the younger man. "But they were hell a' powerful. Uncle said two guys each killed a mountain gigas with their bare hands, using these weird ass martial arts and shit. Don't ask me what the hell they did. Even my uncle didn't know. But he and his enemies were both utterly impressed."

"They were _both_ impressed." stated the visitor, not asking a question. _So it's true. They did but their differences aside following outsider intervention, if only for a short while._

"That's right, and this shared feeling was enough to convinced uncle and his crew to stop fighting the competition and go after the so-called 'real enemy'," explained the local. "My uncle had big plans of his own, using this opportunity to kill two enemies, those outside and those here in town. I guess his rivals thought the same thing. I can't say who broke the truce first, but it was broken mutually, after the cooperative assault."

"Who won the resulting fight?" asked the man, though he knew already that neither side emerged victorious.

The youth brandished a short smile. "Neither. They were all killed, if not by each other, then by the mysterious outsiders, the very people who established the cooperation from the get-go. I overheard my uncle bragging about how the enemy leader died in the assault, but it's not like he fared any differently once back here. They killed him and his last minions. I barely saw my uncle's death."

_Visual confirmation of these 'outsiders'. Just what I need,_ though the older man ambitiously. "What can you tell me about those who killed him and his remaining crew?"

"Damn." The teen looked off into space. "I didn't get a detailed glimpse of the majority. I stayed far the hell away, for obvious reason. But I did notice one man in particular. A tall guy with long black hair and pasty white skin. He was in charge. He gave the orders."

"Interesting." The visitor's voice betrayed nothing of what he felt now. The teen's visual description of the outsider's leader conjured up a very recent memory. _It was him. It can't be anyone else. _"So what happened after that?

"I fled. I wasn't sure if they'd come after me just for being around and witnessing them. I didn't get personal names or group names, or anything that could ID those people." The youth blinked abruptly. "You know, something odd took place after that, nothing as dramatic, but still something I did not expect. Just a couple hours after my uncle was killed, a flying vessel rose from the northern mountain, a plain, nondescript airship. There's no port in the mountains that I know of."

"What did this ship do?"

"It went south. Who was inside, I don't know." The teenager shrugged. "Was it connected to those mysterious outsiders? That, I cannot say. I'd presume not. If they had such a vessel, they'd have used it sooner. Considerable time had lapsed between them killing my uncle and the ship's takeoff."

The man nodded.

"If you don't mind my asking you stuff, why are you so curious?" The teen stood up. "Did you have friends here in town? Were the outsiders friends of yours?"

"No, to both. As for my real motivation, I'm not at liberty to disclose such. But rest assured, you've been helpful, just like I said you would." The man stood and offered his open right hand to the local teen.

"Well, you're welcome. Sorry I couldn't answer more." He took the older man's hand appreciatively. "Glad to see you here. I never thought I'd get such a chance."

"Fortune has smiled upon you." The man looked at his company and motioned at the closed door. "Good luck with your upkeep of this building.

He went back outside, followed by those who'd joined him. They mounted and awaited instructions. "Return to HQ. I got what I came for. Thank you all." They mustered their chocobos and began riding out of town.

The man's head was still ingesting the information. This mini puzzle was now complete, forming a piece all its own in the greater puzzle. He kept his composure, but his thoughts brooded on the negatives he'd just confirmed. _They were here. They set up the attack. The public enemies were just pawns. And if they were here..._

_ It's him. He used us, and is using us now. I thought he was a friend. He's been playing us from minutes one. Damn that lying bastard shit!_

"Is something wrong? You looked tense." A voice broke the man from his thoughts. A mounted soldier rode alongside him.

"Shit's complicated. That's all I can say for now." The man spoke a simplified truth. He'd withhold information until speaking with his own superiors. But his present company would seek answers, sooner or later.

Answers had been received. But many questions still remained.

_change in s & n_

"Yo-You're kidding!" I stammered, spreading butter on my toast.

"No Terra. I saw it with my own eyes." Leonard bit into a strip of bacon. "I read the label's original text. Mog supplied me, and thus Umaro before, with a cleaning solution used for polishing dinner plates and glassware."

"To use in cleaning industrial machinery parts?" I scooped up a forkful of scrambled egg.

Leonard cut his pancake into pieces. "Indeed. The results are hardly worth discussing."

All those times when Mog was cutting down Umaro's negligence had taken a new meaning. It was not the yeti who'd been incompetent, but the moogle, giving Umaro the wrong tools for the demanded work tasks. No wonder Umaro failed pitifully at his duties. Even the best worker could only do so much when provided with inadequate resources. Umaro's hurt was justified, and none of Mog's bullshit could be excused any longer. The moogles were overworked, and why? Because Mog had thrown Umaro in a cage, all for shit the yeti never did. Mog had unknowingly blamed his own screw-ups on the Sasquatch all this time.

It had all been Mog's fault.

I drank my cider. "Did you find Mog, to rip him a new ass crack for this?"

"Unfortunately I could not. He left me some time before I discovered his fuck-up. When I asked for him, I was told he was preoccupied." Leonard squeezed honey into his pancake chunks.

"Do I want some words with him," I snarled, tightly clenching my fork and butter knife.

"At least we know where to find him." Leonard swallowed some pancake bites. "I'm a little more concerned with finding Umaro. It's no wonder he fled, but we still don't know how he got out, and why Mog reported him as being compliant right before the yeti vanished."

Was there a connection? I made the simplest one. "Maybe Umaro knew he'd be let out shortly afterward, if the idea that someone or something else released him from the cage is correct." I bit off some toast. "That would explain his patient demeanor just before his disappearance. He anticipated being released."

"Okay, but by who, or what?" Leonard grabbed the cider bottle and filled his glass. "That mysterious thing you chased out of his cave up north?"

"Maybe. That would explain its evasiveness." I downed more eggs. "It didn't want me finding it in the yeti's cave. If it played a role in Umaro's breakout, that would explain why?"

Leonard chomped another bacon strip. "True. We've not actually connected any person or creature to his escape, but this thing might've _assumed_ we did, and fled just in case. Regardless, we don't know who or what escaped you."

"We're talking about a creature as though it's worthy of critical thinking" I scraped the last of the eggs off my plate. "I believe we already established one such animal group capable of such, something with supernatural qualities. I'm not referencing moogles."

"You mean the monsters that carried out the Shedairah killings." Leonard cut up another pancake. "We've already connected them to the guard's death in the moogle cave several weeks back. Maybe you're onto something. The Shedairah monsters 'recruited' Umaro."

I ate my toast down to the bread crusts. "In any case, I should tell Edgar about this."

"Now?" asked Leonard incredulously. "We have no proof that a Shedairah beast freed Umaro. That's only our speculation. Edgar can't have these vague, unverified scenarios flooding his plate right now. His plumbing project is almost complete. Earlier today, the farm closed down, so dairy staff could watch and help out. Even when that passes, he's got a shitload of newly enlisted troops in need of briefing."

"Okay Leonard, you're right about the supposed connection between the super monsters and Umaro's escape." I finished my cider and put the glass on my empty plate with the dirty utensils. "But we've confirmed Mog's errors. I should report that to him. Celes and Locke might also be curious."

Leonard finished his dinner and passed me the used plate, glass, knife, and fork. "So what now? Mog needs a cold splash of reality in his face, but Umaro needs to be found and exonerated. His trust in Mog has gone to shit threefold at least by now. Where and how do we start searching for him."

"I doubt the local militia will assist us." I put the dirty dishes into the sink. "Their jobs are to guard the mine. Plus, a search effort of Umaro's cave already turned up nothing. I doubt they'll agree to another yeti search in some less defined area."

"We'll probably have to do the job ourselves, as we've done so far." Leonard approached me from behind. His hands caressed my upper arms, reaching at my bra straps protruding out from under my tank top. "Returner work is never boring, so I hear."

_change in s & n_

All eyes were on the crane, and the large cylindrical chunk of piping it held in its claws. All eyes watched the suspended pipe segment was lowered slowly into the ditch below.

This was it. The last few days had seen tremendous progress. It was the final piece of the final stretch. This close to the end, crews worked overtime, sometimes into the wee hours, to finish this long-standing trial. And now, the moment was upon them, and upon me. I stood amidst an escort team, Cyan, Jerom, and Chancellor Pierre Gurdeaux in my immediate company.

The taxation I'd imposed and increased more than once afterward, even secretly paying for it with my own personal savings, all boiled down to this one final moment. Nine months of collecting extra revenue for upgraded water utilities were coming to an end, right here, right now.

Onlookers were piled around fences that enclosed this final construction zone. As the pipe segment continued its descent, news reporters flashed photographs. Other bystanders began shouting a countdown.

"Five! Four! Three! Two..." They held off, as their timing got ahead of the crane's descent. I held my breath as the pipe was lowered into the ditch, awaiting that sound of thick metal against subterranean dirt. It thudded, the crane claws coming to a halt. "ONE!"

Massive cheers and applause burst from the spectators. More cameras flashed as the crane opened its claws and lifted them away from the installed pipe segment. As they rose out from the ditch, workers carrying welding torches and rivet guns went inside the hole, securing the new line to the existing ones around it. Pings and crackles escaped the ditch, along with flashes of light and wisps of smoke.

Cyan leaned in close, so the cheering wouldn't drown him out. "T'is done, King Edgar. The new waterlines are installed."

The Chancellor followed the General's example. "Congratulations Your Majesty. You've proven yourself a man of your word, a feat expected of the Figaroan King. The tax which I helped you establish has served its purpose."

I breathed out, watching the workers. The pipe was fixed in place. The welders and rivet gunners climbed out, and a new team took their place. It was time to splash sealer on the new pipe, making it water-tight. Cheers went on as the second crew went about their business, paying brief attention to the crowd.

No more tax collection. This was the final deed, the last loose end of the last thread in the last cloth. The long tunnel of doubt and deliberation through which I'd traveled for nine long months was at last behind me, forever. That light at the end of the tunnel, once a far off dream, was now surrounding me. I had done it!

The escort team of guards and soldiers parted, allowing a certain individual passage. My wife stood in the clearing, dressed in her blue and yellow satin gown, her hair tied in a bun and her teal eyes sparkling like the afternoon sun overhead. She threw her arms around me in a tight embrace of passion, joy, love, and excitement. "You did it, Edgar! It's done! The taxation _was temporary. _This pipe system _is permanent._ Now you see it, everything I told you since beginning this whole affair. And the payoffs of perseverance we now reap." Charise gripped my shoulder. "What? Are you alright. Why the stiff expression?"

The cheers had died down, a little. "Honey. This has been a long-standing burden for me, and words cannot describe my satisfaction at seeing it conclude like so. I should feel liberated, and I would in a different circumstance." I leaned in, not to be heard so much as to avoid being overheard. "But this is no time to get cocky of feel invulnerable. The Nyufalng are no doubt plotting their next move against us. We cannot afford letting down our defenses just because the new plumbing system is complete. Morris Tanrevilt is still out there, freely wandering my soil, unsuspected and unmatched."

Her lips drooped subtly. "The enemy spy, yes. I understand. But take this moment to rejuvenate yourself, and gain even more trust in your abilities." She ran her fingers down my side. "Trust that might have waned as you oversaw this monumental project through your own doubt and dismay. Let this example revitalize your character, and you can better face this new enemy with one less concern weighing upon your conscience."

For the moment, she was right. I couldn't lose focus of my commendable feats while obsessing about the Nyufalng. This grandiose accomplishment would serve more than one purpose. It would provide a new waterworks network for the town, and a new boost for my spirit. If I could re-plumb my whole capital, I'd that much more prepared for the Nyufalng.

I'd beaten the looming drought, a force of nature. Certainly the Nyufalng were below that spectacular a level.


	6. The Noose Tightens

**Chapter 6: The Noose Tightens**

"Chithagu! What's wrong?" I watched the horned crocodile roll around the floor of the palace hallway, rambling incoherently, even for his poorly-constructed speech. Slobber poured from his mouth as he snorted in between sentence fragments.

"What the fuck is happening?" I asked again, unsure if he'd respond.

"Divine wound throb nasty. Pirusymn radiate pain essence." Oddly, I did get a concise answer. That one festering wound in the Divine was throbbing in pain once more. Being a Pung Thoshidei with a Pirusymn stone in his forehead, Chithagu would sense it while I could not. The others surely felt it as well.

The beast thrashed on the green and brown carpet a few more times. "Talk Yithadri. She summoning us," he stated during a pause in the motions. His horns retracted, and he rolled into his back, curling his tail. The Honored Shamaness had easily sent a message to him and the others through their stones, and he relayed the message to me.

"Can you join me?" I knelt down and stroked his coarse belly. He flopped back onto his feet, breathing heavily. When he walked off, I followed, not sure if he'd make it the whole way.

But he held up. We reached the cable car at the base of the Falpuryn hills east of Albrook. He paced about restlessly until the next car slid along the boarding platform.

When we reached the hilltop, Chithagu made gagging sounds. But he didn't curl up and snort this time. He walked steadily out the cable car and through the entrance of Yithadri's dome.

"Fuckin' shit!" I gasped. Upon the dome chamber's central platform, the Shamaness lay on her back, her eyes a glossy white, her forehead glistening with perspiration. Her robe and waist sash hung messily on the platform's railing, with her boots right below. Clad in socks, tight leggings, a strapless top, and a few jewelry pieces, Yithadri wheezed and mumbled stuff I couldn't decipher, assuming they were actual words. She reached up with trembling hands, her finger closing and opening randomly. I took her left hand, though she didn't seem to notice.

"Honored Shamaness." Goda-Gorshim walked up, a glass of water in his hand. He slid a large pillow under Yithadri's head. Again, she seemed unaware.

I gazed up at his masked face. "What's happening? First Chithagu and now Yithadri." As he wasn't a Pung Thoshidai or Nyufalng elite, the Moihzadu, was feeling less of the radiation than the others. He felt it vaguely, and was coherent enough to move and speak.

"Remember last time? It's happening again with even greater intensity." Goda-Gorshim's cold voice was louder than usual.

Suddenly, Yithadri's eyes blinked back to their normal color. She sat up and ran across the platform. There, she leaned over the stone railing. Her back was to us, but the wet coughing sounds left little to the imagination. She vomited a few more times onto the natural rock floor of the chamber's pit. After some deep breaths, she staggered back to us and flopped down on the pillow, accepting Goda-Gorshim's beverage offer.

"The Divine's in pain," I said, understanding the sensation that I could not feel.

"It's happening again, but on a smaller level. It's pretty much localized around the injury in question." The Shamaness took a large gulp of water. "The damage will be smaller, again localized around that region. But who knows what that may trigger elsewhere."

The doors behind us opened with a bang. "Yithadri. I got your telepathy message, and felt the pulsation as you did." Dyal'xern rushed over, joining us on the center ledge of the dome room. "Qaurjaeda's right behind me." The Air-smasher rubbed his eyes and massaged his temples, trying to rid himself of whatever sensation had pierced through him.

"Damn. This fucking sucks ass," sneered a voice, the words echoing off the domed ceiling. Qaurjaeda walked over, seating himself across from Yithadri. "We gotta do something, fast."

"Yes. We'll have to carry out our plan sooner than expected." The Shamaness drank more water. "We'll contact Sergeant Tanrevilt and update him, then arrange a meeting somehow."

"He gets all the fun," Dyal'xern laughed. "Instead of spreading lies, he spreads truth, where mistrust of Edgar _Phony_ has thrived for years. It's almost too easy. Not that I'm bitching. When you get a chance like such, use it practically."

"We're meeting silently, I presume." Qaurjaeda flexed the toes on all four of his legs. "The whole fucking coastline is heavily guarded by Figaro navy. An assault would be unwise. Figaro's technology has advanced greatly since Palazzo's death. It could even rival the Jrysthovuhn Council's by now.

A worthless fuck-up he was, but Edgar Figaro commanded the world's most impressive military nonetheless. Sireck and Edrina were small cheese compared to him, and asked him for weapons because they knew of his superior innovation. Even the last Imperial successors in House Virnone had to admit a certain inferiority to the Figaroan Monarch. Their leftover Imperial technology was originally crafted from Figaro hardware, part of the 'good' King's alliance with Gestahl. Duke Sindreo had brawn coming out the ass, but his brains were pitiful in comparison. Edgar Figaro was a man of innovation and motivation. His army, newly inspired from Morris' arson act on their command center, had the best weapons of war available to the imagination.

Our knowledge of the Divine, its Spirit Stream, and the energies that flowed within would give us the edge. Our own synthetic technology was impressive in its own right, but it was not up to par with tools at Returner disposal. Our use of the natural arcane elements would make our stand while breaking theirs. Nothing else could.

"Another sneak-around, like what we did in Tzen?" I asked. That was successful in that House Virnone wasn't looking for us Nyufalng. They didn't know shit about us until we'd breached their political district and stormed their palace, while they were distracted by their own dissidents' false attack. Edgar knew about us, and was probably briefing the new army recruits about each of us by name at this very moment.

But did he know about Morris? Even if they suspected a mole, did they know the Sergeant's alias? When Mona Felconze answered our transmission, she spoke of an overly-curious couple she and Tia Dargiane had met a few times, but also told us she hadn't named any other Nyufalng operatives. The Returner spies didn't even have Morris' real name, never mind his alias. Secrecy was ours. We'd exploit this.

Yithadri finished her water glass. "Yes. For now, that's the best option. We need to collect data from Edgar's kingdom ourselves. Morris has done loads thus far, but the more of us there are, the more we can uncover. So long as we avoid the Returner bigwigs, we have a chance at moving freely, unsuspected."

"Let me guess. I'm going." I'd done this before. Why hold off now?

Goda-Gorshim placed a hand on my shoulder. "Ajalni, that's obvious. But equally obvious is that someone more experienced should join you."

"Like Yours Truly, Number One," gloated the ever-smug Dyal'xern.

"You're all equally inexperienced in dealing with Returners. You've all had only one encounter with them, and it ended in disaster." The Moihzadu spoke of our battle in the Cradhawch Plateau, hours after our victory against Duke Sindreo and his last followers. We lost dozens of staff in that failure, while the Returner fucks escaped with their precious Narshe Coward, _vital_ information he'd learned about us, and not a single casualty of their own.

"I was tired as shit back then," griped Qaurjaeda. "If I'd been more charged up, we'd have eaten half-esper stew and magitek general cutlets for dinner."

The Moihzadu shook his head. "So you say. Regardless, you've only sampled a taste of Returner ingenuity. I however, spent a good couple weeks among them as their campaign against Palazzo drew to its end. I stood beside them in that final climax. I was the only ranking Nyufalng who could enter the magic-laden ruins and play a part in killing the menace, something they should have done long before then."

The Moihzadu had very grudgingly _joined ranks_ with the King's men and women to do what we could not. The Pung Thoshidai powers would diminish in areas with a high concentration of magic. The Moihzadu's abilities were different, as they were not based on a Pirusymn stone essence. His specialty proved crucial.

"I'll accompany you into Figaro's domain," he said. "I could use this time to catch up on their endeavors from the last three years and then some. The four-year mark of Palazzo's death is approaching."

"Who else?" Qaurjaeda flexed his clawed fingers. "I'm not good-looking enough to walk amid Figaro turf unnoticed.

Yithadri stood up and grabbed her boots. "We'll decide that later. Even those who don't meet with Tanrevilt should still have a presence, for standby purposes if nothing else."

This was it. We all knew this would come. It was coming sooner than expected now. But no matter. We'd get to fuck with those hypocrites, and all who kissed their asses. Once Figaro was removed, we'd only have to worry about Jrysthovuh's council.

_change in s & n_

"You look rather patient Leonard." Terra walked beside me on our trek through the Verdsanath streets.

"Patient with you, yes. You're not the one who punished Umaro for your own fuck-ups for months on end." I touched her wrist. "I've no reason to rip you a second ass crack. I'm saving my wrath for Mog."

We came upon the entry to the mines. As expected, guards stood watch at the cave entrance. Terra gave her name and Returner affiliation. I did likewise, claiming I was an-ex mine employee seeking 'important business' with Mog.

Another guard came outside. "Ah. You again. I trust you won't shout and make disruptive noises like yesterday." The man eyed me skeptically.

Furious though I was, I had no intention of disturbing the peace. We'd take Mog aside if we had to. "No, I'll mind my voice volume. Thank you for the reminder."

We got admitted inside, and asked around for Mog. He was in the same room I'd found him the previous day. Perfect. I could literally shove the bottle of dinner ware cleaner in his face to make my point.

There he was, dancing about one of the machines, colorful blurs of light marking his footsteps. He was probably invoking a water dance, maybe to clean on of the machines that stayed dirty and gummed up after dish cleaner was used on the munitions. How appropriate that he was cleaning the very messes that he ordered Umaro to clean up, while offering the wrong supplies.

Amid a rest in the pouncing steps, the moogle saw us. "Leonard, and Terra! Here to provide volunteer services again?"

"No." I answered for both of us. "I have something more important for you."

"Ku...po? What the hell?" Mog blinked. "I'm on a work schedule. I don't have time for jokes."

"And we're not laughing." Terra frowned. "I'm sure you'll be taking a leave of absence when we're through here."

Mog folded his arms. "Alright. It's not a joke, and I'm not playing either. Spit it out."

Since I discovered the flatware cleaner in the supply cabinet, I'd be the one spell out Mog's error. "I tried cleaning those machine innards yesterday, with the cleaning stuff _you_ provided for me."

"Yes, tried and did not succeed Leonard. I just found out this morning." His voice wasn't spiteful or stern, but he was taking a self-righteous edge. If he was smart, he'd lose that in a few minutes, or less.

"And you know why? What here." I left the moogle with Terra and went for the supply cabinet. There it was on the middle shelf, the very out-of-place bottle of dishware cleaner, its label faded but still visible. I went back and held the container out, under the glow of a ceiling floodlight. "Read this, if you can." I ran my finger beneath the text.

Mog squinted. "It's...dish soap?" Either he was in disbelief, or had made the connection and was not fully comprehending it.

Regardless, I'd now spell it out. "Yes it is. It's too weak to use in grimy machine parts. It won't get the job done. That's why Umaro failed. Because _you_ failed...failed to give him the real tools for the trade."

Terra bent down and narrowed her eyes. "All that time, you were bitching about Umaro's lazy work efforts, even caging him for messes he couldn't clean up using the resources you provided. And in all that time, it was never his fault. It was yours."

"Kup-p-po-o..." The moogle staggered back. "You mean I..." He didn't finish.

"Yes, you did, for errors he didn't make." I stared down the moogle.

So he got the message. Mog's legs folded underneath him, and he sat on the rough cavern floor. "No. How? What did I do?"

I stepped up, not caring if I invaded any personal space. "Long story short, you betrayed Umaro's trust. He wasn't smart enough to inspect the tools you gave him, and surely trusted you to provide the proper tools." I hunched down, forcing Mog to lean back. My voice came out in a harsh whisper. "You let him down."

Terra came over, and I leaned back some. Both of us bearing down on the moogle was enough. "I...I'm...sorry. I didn't mean for this."

"Don't apologize to us Mog," advised Terra. "Apologize to poor Umaro. He's the one you shit on for no reason. And if it wasn't your intention, you'd better do something to change what you brought about."

Terra and I had discussed this at length. "He's gone because of you," I pointed out. "So now you have to find him and apologize. The sooner the better."

"Kuuuuuu..." Mog swayed back and fourth, as though he'd faint. "I  
Can't leave right now. I'm needed here in the mine, remember?"

Was this a legit concern, or some excuse to avoid the inevitable? Mog had been forthcoming, so I veered on the former. "If you find him and get him back, you'll have his muscle in the workplace once more, and you'll have less on your plate. Your caging him is why you've been overworked for so long."

The unsteady moogle was back in his feet, if still a bit shaky. "Yes. I've goofed and brought this on myself and the others. If anything, I owe them apologies too. But right now, I need to find Umaro, and that means leaving this mine."

"I'm sure the labor guild would approve your taking an absence to locate one their best crew members," Terra said, softening her voice. "That is, if you're sincere in finding Sasquatch and clearing him of blame. You're not very credible at the moment."

Mog's head hung down. "No, I'm not. I don't blame you for thinking such. I don't even know if I can trust myself right now."

He needed some encouragement, if he was to locate the missing Yeti. "You fessed up that you fucked up. That's a great start." I provided what I could.

Mog flopped down on a work bench nearby. "I can't do anything today. The guild needs notice in advance if I'm going to leave. I'll be in touch. If you're not going to volunteer your services, you'd best leave and not loiter."

We'd gotten through. Simple facts did the job with less effort than we'd thought necessary. We could leave the disillusioned moogle to his own resources.

Or could we? Yes, he conceded to our point, but Mog wasn't the party most in need of convincing right now. I had no doubts of his intents to reconcile with Umaro, but he doubted himself. Did he believe he could pull it off?

Was it too late? Was this bridge too burned for salvaging?

_change in s & n_

I'd gotten the latest message form Terra and Leonard. It was Mog, not Umaro, who'd been making errors the whole time, oblivious to all of them while chewing the Yeti out for his own goofs. That still did not explain how Umaro escaped confinement and where he'd gone afterward. My curiosity was more perked, but it was still a marginal issue for me. With the plumbing project complete, I had other matters to acknowledge.

"How goes Professor?" I asked.

Cid looked up from the work table in a room of the military base, a room far from the burned southwest wing. "Why King Edgar. Paying me a visit to check on the weaponry progress. We can advance a little faster now, with the new plumbing system complete. And it's only been a couple days."

"Yes, a new water utility system benefits everyone, including lab specialists and weapon designers." I gazed about the room. A few techs were sitting at tables in the chamber's far end. On the table between me and the scientist were scattered notes. They were another language to me, but Cid might very well understand them. Still, it wasn't the translations of his scribbled notes I was curious about. "Has progress been slow for this new invention of yours?"

"In some ways, yes." The professor sifted through some note sheets until he found one of a specific relevance. "The first problem was finding the right combination of explosives for the compound. In short, we toiled over the perfect balance between power and size. We've recently surmounted that, bringing us to our current issue."

"That being?"

The professor sorted his notes again. "We're trying to craft a safety feature, something to prevent the explosive charge when it's not wanted, but can be released when the time comes."

"So the present issue is mechanical, not chemical," I mused. "I'd have a look myself, if I didn't have a boatload of new recruits rushing to enlist. I still must update the current military staff on the Nyufalng."

"Good prioritizing, Highness. I'll leave you to such duties and brief you when developments arise. Good day." Cid pulled out a work stool and took a seat. I left him and the technicians and went over to the briefing room.

Using my notes from the Ts'aosra'iy and some vivid color pictures that Relm drew following descriptions we provided, a simple but complete briefing had been assembled. It covered Jrysthovuh, its history and present-day status, and its renegade Nyufalng, with particular mention of its Pung Thoshidai members (displayed in Relm's pictures). Their abilities were described to the best of our knowledge. For the moment, I withheld information about their spy Morris Tanrevilt operating amongst us. The new volunteers were plenty in number and spirit, but I wouldn't risk one of them accidentally spreading loud word of a Nyufalng mole in our presence. It could very well pressure this Tanrevilt character into leaving our turf, possibly taking our secrets with him. I was very quiet about him, sharing his presence with the upper brass only.

The briefings proceeded for most of the afternoon and early evening. While I'd learned much from the Ts'aosra'iy, I still didn't know what the 'Divine' actually was. I'd not read the tome from cover to cover, so I had ample supply of reading materials left. The briefings finished for the day, and then it was dinner time. After that I went up to my room and opened the book of Jrysthovuhn history and whatnot. No unread chapter seemed any better or worse than the next for finding the Divine's real definition. I opened the book and began reading a segment on mental techniques like telepathy and telepathic forethought, a means to predict someone's actions and emulate them. One could imitate another person's martial arts style of they studied that person enough. An interesting discovery no doubt, not not helpful in translating "Divine'.

As I turned the page, a buzzer went off. The telegraph on my desktop was printing up a message. I stood up and watched the typewriter print the incoming mail. I removed the page when the machine chimed, signaling a completed transmission.

It was from Locke. The message was only two sentences, but they spoke volumes.

Edgar, I need to see you alone. I might've uncovered the Nyufalng mole.

_change in s & n_

Whatever happened between Mog and Umaro was out of my hands now. Terra and I put Mog in his place the other day. We'd done our part. The next act was on Mog.

Still, there was someone else who learned of this matter and deserved to know about its new turning point.

My work shift was approaching, but I still had some time to kill before then. I stopped at Figaro castle and made for the commerce hall. It was possible that Joe had come back to work, and this possibility proved true. He sat behind the jewelry display counter, with a bandage covering his injured hand.

"Welcome back the jewel trade." I walked up to the booth. "Did you feel empty without your profession?"

"Ah, Leonard." Joe looked up from his box of assorted stones. "Yeah, I felt a little bored. But I'm here again, happily doing business."

"Just don't hurt yourself this time." I pointed at the wrapping on his hand. "Doesn't that injury hinder your performance?"

"Well, yes and no. I can't do precise measurements and stone modifications, but I'm still able to recommend stone cuts, and provide answers to questions." Joe wiggled the fingers on his bandaged hand. "At least my fingers do what I want now."

"What did you do, slice a muscle or tendon?" I asked.

The merchant sifted through the box with his other hand. "I'm not sure, but it should heal in time. So, what brings you about? Are you my personal welcoming committee, or a potential buyer?"

I laughed. "Neither. I have a _huge_ update on Mog and Umaro. I was volunteering to help Mog clean the machines the other day. When I read the cleaning label, I realized Mog had given Umaro, and thus myself, a dish-washing solution for us in cleaning industrial munitions."

Joe eyes blinked. "Really?"

I thought he'd be more surprised than this. I sure as hell was, though largely because I saw the label and made the connection myself. Joe was getting a second-hand account from me, which would have less of an impact. "Really. Umaro did nothing wrong. He just couldn't complete his duties with the resources had given him. It's Mog's failure, and he knows it now."

"He should apologize." Joe hung some metallic jewel frames on a small rack next to the gems box. "I knew something was wrong in the way he spoke of the caged Yeti. He'll need to kiss big-time ass, if Umaro's to believe him."

"Yeah. I just hope their ties haven't been severed beyond repair." I placed my hands in my coat pockets. "Anyways, as you sampled their potential falling-out during your 'tour' of Narshe, I just thought you'd be curious about this update."

"And thanks a bunch for that update Leonard." He pointed behind me. "I think I've got some buyers, so we'll have to end the chatter here."

"No problem. I'm heading to business myself at the farm. See ya'". I left the man to his gem peddling and caught the next train to the farm

Work proceeded like normal for the first hour. After cleaning the milking pumps and attaching some to the cows, I needed a bathroom break. Finding the nearest stall, I went in.

As I locked the door, something rumbled. For a second, I froze. The last time I heard such a noise was almost a year back, when (oddly enough) I was cleaning the restrooms in Shedairah's barracks. While I stood motionless at the toilet bowl, the rumble came again. The room shook. Water sloshed from side-to-side on the toilet. A spare roll of toilet paper tumbled off the supply shelf onto the brown tile floor.

The last time, I presumed these were tremors when they'd actually been explosions. I'd been isolated in a restroom with the door closed, just like now.

I didn't want to presume it was a flashback. Maybe it was curiosity. My pulse throbbed. I didn't feel any sense of urgency or danger, but I had to open the door behind me, just in case. Last time, the door was pinned closed by fallen debris on the other side, and I was forced to crawl into the complex's venting ducts to escape smoke asphyxiation. I had to see what was happening out there, if for nothing else than to convince myself there was no explosion, no fallen rubble, and no fire. In one quick movement, I turned 180 and twisted the doorknob. With a shove, the door flew open.

"Earthquake!?" shouter a man's loud voice, simultaneously asking and stating the obvious. I looked around. Milk canisters had toppled over and rolled about the floors, and people dove under the nearest table or crammed into the nearest doorway. But there was no smoke, no flames, and no structural damage.

And then, just as quickly as the shaking came, it ceased. I held my breath, expecting another, and withdrew into the restroom doorway. Almost a minute passed with no follow-up shaking. A sudden, isolated motion had left as quickly as it arrived.

"It's nothing, not anymore," said a person down the hall. "Nothing in this room even moved."

That was odd, even the smallest, shortest tremors were more widespread than this, an area so small, the entire farming complex was larger. What kind of tremor was this?

An older man crawled out from beneath a work table. "Can we come out now, if that's the case?"

Taking the lack of motion as reassurance, people moved back into the hallway, gathering the fallen canisters and organizing whatever else the tremor had disturbed. The foreman entered. "Too small and confined to even make the chart. Back to work until further notice."

Well, at least the Shedairah monsters hadn't set their claws and teeth on this dairy farm. For a cold split second, I thought it was deja-vu. Still, it was odd for tremors to hit this part of Figaro. The fault line was up in the Hyaxulan Mountains, not far form the old Shedairah installation. Even its most powerful activity would hardly register down here in the capital.

The rest of the workday proceeded normally, with no additional tremors. Still, I hadn't imagined it. All the other farmhands felt the exact same thing I had. Did people elsewhere in town feel anything? Was it not a natural occurrence but maybe something else, like a power surge? That would explain its small localization.

Maybe it was a fluke, a one-timer that wouldn't repeat itself. But if not, maybe we'd learn more when it happened next, assuming it would.

_change in s & n_

Locke's eyes kept staring at my closed bedroom door. He slowly turned his venomous gaze back to me, though I wasn't the target of this hateful glower. "That...mother...fucker." In spite of his dark mood, he kept his calm, and watched his voice volume. He was adamant that we hold a private discussion, again.

"Locke, you have no proof he's really Morris Tanrevilt," I reasoned, quoting his own words. "You didn't establish any connection."

"A solid link no, but recall what I said last time, about those anomalies." Locke cringed, revisiting his older doubts with a new mindset. In our last closed-door meeting, we'd never heard the term 'Nyufalng', and I somehow laid his questions to rest, for a while. This time however, answering those questions raised even more.

"And I know for a fact the Nyufalng were in the slum town. The descriptions I got were too accurate, unless it was another organization with similar abilities and looks. But those odds are pretty slim, especially with everything else that's transpired as of recent." He dug his fingers into the arms of the chair on which he sat. "That means they set up the attack, even if the gangs carried it out. The Nyufalng are still responsible."

"Okay, let's assume you're correct." I wasn't rushing to conclusions, but I could already tell he was right. His excursion out of town brought new revelations to the table, and I wanted to piece all the info together. "How did they learn about the festival?"

"The grapevine, how else?" he asked sarcastically. "There was a link between the rich nation and Maranda. Duke Sindreo once bought a good chunk of the nation's army to help keep House Virnone at bay. Eager to get more currency, the army complied, until aggression on their outpost forced them to withdraw. The Nyufalng had contacts in Maranda, like the ones Celes and I met, then later killed. So, rumors of the festival reached Maranda, and was passed along to Albrook. The Nyufalng investigated and verified such, then acted accordingly, using some outside local help to neutralize another designated foe."

"And our joint mission into gang territory caught them off guard, as they didn't know about our local contact." I saw this puzzle fitting into place, with all its own grave implications.

"It was not a highly publicized connection, since it was personal and not political," Locke agreed.

"I see where you're going. Now I must ask, if he really _is_ Tanrevilt, how is he communicating with Albrook." I knew Locke would have a ready answer.

And he proved me right. "How did Leonard contact you from the Cradhawch Plateau? He used one of the Nyufalng's long-range hand radios. Surely Tanrevilt has one."

Unproven as his theories were, they could not be written off. We'd have to keep close tabs on the suspect. Whoever Morris Tanrevilt was, I had no intention of tipping him off, lest he sense the heat and withdraw from Figaro turf. "Locke, who else have you told about this?"

"No one, not even Celes. When she asked, I just told her to stand by, and that she'd know when the time was right." He was silent, until his hand slapped the chair. "That bastard. He used us, leeched off us, exploited our trust and willingness to help. Who knows what the fucks he's been doing all this time. Setting the army base fire was just one act against us." His eyes darkened. "What if...what if _he's_ the one who kidnapped Leonard?" His cheeks flushed red.

"Locke, calm yourself. We can't accomplish anything with losses of temper." I was beginning to share his anxiety, but I had to keep such feelings in check. "If you get confrontational, he'll get wise. If he's innocent, it will hurt, and burn bridges. Don't get rash."

"Sorry Edgar. I should know better than any of us about masking suspicions. I'm the Returner mole, if you will." He smiled, and his cheeks lost their scarlet overtone. "So what next?"

"You believe him to be the Nyufalng spy, so spy on him, incognito," I advised. "Watch what he does, and see if we can get something on him. He might tip us off to the Nyufalng's next move."

"Gotcha," he mused. "I should be conceiving such an idea. I'll see what I can do, and maybe tell Celes after all, if I can't be here to stalk the stalker." He stood up and reached for the doorknob, then paused mid-grasp. "Oh, and you might want to inform the rich folks who masterminded the crashing of their festivity. They'll be interested, I'm sure."

His suggestion fair and realistic, up to a point. "Maybe, or maybe not. They probably won't believe it, since I have no proof. A vague eyewitness account is nothing solid. Yes, it meant loads to you, but we've actually clashed with the Nyufalng personally, twice. The rich folks haven't."

"Two and a half, if you count the sights we got from the closet." Locke smirked. "Yeah, I get your point. We'll need more to convince them of a third party's involvement, just as we'll need more to prove the man is really Morris Tanrevilt." Locke waved and left my room.

I too felt apprehension. The more I learned about the Nyufalng, the more formidable they became. Leonard's introduction of them was fierce enough, as his captors and slayers of all three major powers down south. Shortly afterward, we learned they were Shadow's captors as well. Locke and Celes verified how the Tzenish and Marandan populations were unquestioning of the Nyufalng's 'good intentions', with many adopting the violent manifesto as casually as they breathed. Their chance encounter with Ruqojjen Kagasjori proved that a spy was among us, and had been for quite some time. Now, I'd learned the Nyufalng had taken their lust for carnage overseas already, not striking upon Figaro land, but still orchestrating a sophisticated operation far removed from their HQ.

And if Locke's suspicion was true, he was right; We'd been played for fools, exploited for chivalry and altruism. The Nyufalng military brains and brawn were unsettling by themselves, but the concept of our own virtuous nature working against us brought forth a new kind of unease, something both Gestahl and Kefka failed to invoke.

Perhaps we Returners were fortunate in that we fought the Empire and Kefka. Those battles had prepared us, further hardened us for a clash with a skillful but highly unconventional opponent like the Jrysthovuhn renegade Nyufalng. Albrook's government was a small-timer just getting its feet off the ground, but House Virnone and Duke Sindreo were brutal tyrants whose edges failed to save them against the Nyufalng wrath. And here I was, a benevolent, orderly monarch facing a ruthless organization of butchers, their motives cast in shadow but their methods clear and dangerous. I had to keep a hard edge, without losing the compassion that separated me from the corrupt ex-rulers of Tzen and Maranda. If I lost that virtue, the Nyufalng would win, on the battlefield or off.

_change in s & n_

I felt self-conscious, in ways I hadn't before. The enemy was all around. Just about any random passer-by could register with Figaro's military, any moment. We were surrounded by potential enemies. Getting here was a task in of itself. Maybe that would prove easy compared with getting around these enemy lines.

Figaro city's entire coast was heavily patrolled. Any ship docking on the capital's southern reaches would immediately be suspected as a Nyufalng vessel. And taking an airship would risk exposure even more, as air vessel docks were less plentiful, and also highly secured. Even entry through South Figaro was dangerous, being Edgar's primary harbor.

The only practical option was to land an airship on the outskirts of Nikeah, venturing from the grounded vessel at the crack of dawn, ready for a solid day of travel. It was a neutral city-state with no affiliation to Returner politics (yet). They didn't know about us, didn't have any reason to give a fuck, and were not at all suspicious when we arrived in town with Albrooker currency. When questioned, we simply said order had been restored, not exactly a lie. The banks accepted our funds, changing it for their local money.

After that, we caught a river ferry which skirted the northern rim of the Sabil Mountain remains, along the Lete River. Instead of taking it all the way, we stopped at a mountain outpost, got a chocobo carriage, and rode the rest of the way into Figaro City. Figaro got plenty of visitors and tourists from Nikeah, so exchanging Nikean monetary units in Figaroan banks was hardly abnormal, a far more common transaction than exchanges of Albrooker dough. In any case, Edgar had probably issued warnings about travelers seeking to exchange any currency from the southern continent.

Nikeah didn't question Albrooker money, and Figaro didn't question Nikean money. We'd made it behind enemy lines. Now came the real work.

"Where is the place?" I asked.

Dyal'xern, wearing his usual disguise of overcoat and top hat, studied a map of Figaro's capital. "It's on the street that runs before the castle, Citadel Boulevard. But it's hardly right in front of the King's house."

Wearing his own coat and large-lens sunglasses to mask his discolored, misshapen eyes, Baokiydu said under his breath, "As long our presence is a secret, distance from King Fuckaro's pad won't mean shit."

"What the failure King doesn't know will seriously hurt him," snickered Goda-Gorshim in a tone barley above a whisper. I caught trace hints of mockery in his otherwise stoic voice. The Moihzadu wore his own hooded tunic.

Choosing operatives for the infiltration party was a given. Yours Truly, the Nyufalng's own teenage Mistress of Mischief was an obvious choice. Dyal'xern and Baokiydu could conceal their visual anomalies much more easily than the other Pung Thoshidai, and Baokiydu's hearing and vision senses could prove instrumental here, just as they did in Tzen. Goda-Gorshim was the only Nyufalng member who'd dealt extensively with the Returner bunch. Not in combat against them, but that could soon change.

Still, he'd never set foot in this town, which wasn't quite four years old. The only Nyufalng to sample the metropolis of Figaro City was Sergeant Morris Tanrevilt.

We four kept on our path through the streets of Figaro's capital. Around a corner, I saw the square sign atop a support post. We crossed the street en route for the gray, four-story building.

Morris didn't own property here in Figaro City, so establishing a makeshift HQ could not be done at any private residence. Fortunately, Morris and Ruqojjen had already covered that angle.

The Tarlappus Inn was not a high-class hotel, but it was a very popular spot for travelers of all stripes and colors. Out-of-towners like us would blend in perfectly. Morris had already made a reservation for us out of his own pocket, and with the Figaro currency we'd acquired, we could pay for additional nights, until we felt it was time to seek another inn, just so we didn't stay in one place for too long and raise eyebrows. We didn't know how long we'd be staying here in Returner Central.

Before we set out from Albrook, our primary Tzenish contact Jim Canavielle had come down, terminally ill from his disease. The ex-factory worker left us whatever he had, and passed away some hours afterward. As such, Morris reserved the hotel room in Jim's name. The Returners hadn't known Jim like they'd known Tia and Mona, and since Jim was dead, he was no longer a Nyufalng man. A dead foreigner's name was the perfect alias to use on the hotel registry.

We entered the lobby. The desk clerks were talking with guests, and neither group paid us attention. A bellhop asked to take our luggage, but I smiled and declined. We didn't have much. I carried the only bag, and it contained something other than extra clothes; my kalsahun and rangamju. When the man left to carry another guest's bag, we split for the stairwell.

On the fourth floor we approached the closed door of room 414. A tall, potted plant was seated on the doorway's left. I knelt down and felt about the pot's underside, until my fingers grasped something metallic. Just as Morris said in his transmission, the room keys would be waiting for us under the planter. I scooped them up and used one in the keyhole.

The room was simple; it contained two double-size beds with a nightstand in between, a round table and a square table with two chairs each, a sliding glass door that led to an outside balcony, a basic bathroom with a combined bathtub/shower, an overheard light, a desk lamp, and a small telegraph machine in the night table. This was a short distance communication device that could send or receive messages from other rooms or the front desk, but nowhere outside the building.

Inside, Baokiydu shut the door, and I flopped down onto one of the covered beds. I didn't care of I shared it or not. I was tired from the day's traveling, and hungry. Rest would be achieved with time, as would food. Goda-Gorshim's radio gauntlet buzzed rather quietly, too low to hear if we were still outside on the noisy street. The Moihzadu pressed a button and answered, saying no more than five words in response. He clicked it off and addressed us. "He's on the way, with some chow."

Minutes later, a rhythmic knocking came from outside the door, followed by man's voice. "Jim." Dyal'xern looked through the peephole, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Another man in a hat and overcoat stood in the hall, with two large paper bags in hand. He entered, and the door was closed and locked behind him.

"Long time no see, old friend." Dyal'xern broke a smile as the visitor placed the bags on the round table and removed his own hat.

"You've missed a shitload of action down south." Baokiydu removed his own disguise.

I couldn't help myself. I hugged the man as though I was embracing a long-lost friend. "I've missed you." One arm encircled me, the other took Goda-Gorshim's hand.

"It's wonderful to see you all again." Morris Tanrevilt pulled a chair out from under the food table. "You've all had fun of your own, while I'm up here playing undercover man. Don't think I'm jealous or anything. It's all high-risk business, no matter where you are or what you're doing."

"Of course," smirked Dyal'xern. "High risk as in highly risky to those who become our targets." Morris hadn't meant it like so, but the Air-smasher was nonetheless correct.

My stomach growled. "I'm starving, can we chit-chat over dinner?"

Morris pulled our grub from the bags. Boxes of barbecued take-out were placed on the table. Spare ribs, drumsticks, biscuits, sliced pears, and cans of cola were up for grabs. It was better than the travel rations the other had surely fed upon. Qaurjaeda, Sdalsyra, Chithagu, a few other troops waited back in the airship.

Goda-Gorshim grabbed some paper plates from one of the bags, filling one for himself. "Well Sergeant, now that we can fill our stomachs, let's get down to business. Namely, planning our next move."

_change in s & n_

"He could be anywhere," Mog said, gazing about. "Terra, what makes you think we'll find Umaro down here?"

"Just a hunch. We have to start somewhere. That mystery thing I chased from his cave fled to this region, and between my chase and the military search, freshly killed meat was found in his cave. He'd come back between my visit and theirs. This allows for quick, easy access to and from the cave, and it provides a clear path away from town. With his level of intelligence, he'd take this route."

The moogle and I sat mounted on a chocobo, in the lengthy gorge that ran through the mountains north of Narshe. Our starting point was right at the lower entrance of Umaro's cavern. To the east, the gorge eventually ended at one of the Lete River's branching paths. To the west, it continued further into the mountains, even passing the defunct Shedairah base. My gut said that if Umaro fled along this path, it was in that direction.

With Mog behind me, I mustered our chocobo to run in the most promising direction. Wide, shallow puddles of melted snow filled the gorge. Even in these summer months, snow didn't melt in large quantities this far north, so the gorge didn't become a temporary river. The bird's feet splashed in the puddles as we rode through the miniature canyon. Rough cliffs lined the sides, not too steep as to prevent climbing. Umaro could've gone up either side into the forested regions beyond. There was so much ground to cover, and no guarantee we'd find Sasquatch amid those woods. And yet, that vague urge within me kept insisting we ride forward.

"Terra why'd you come?" asked Mog. "You were pissed at me when you and Leonard stopped by, informing me that I'd blamed Umaro for my own negligence."

"You just admitted fault, and you fessed up back then as well," I reasoned. "You're obviously smart enough to admit error, and that is commendable enough to deserve my help. Besides, Umaro might be more understanding with someone else around. I'll vouch for your character, and better convince him you're sorry."

We rode on without discussion for several moments afterward, the only noise coming from our bird's feet stomping the dirt and gravel below. "Kupo. You presume it's that easy?"

Before I could respond, something caught my eye. A large rock in a puddle was up ahead, and as we neared it, something was amiss. The rock looked different somehow, as did the puddle. The liquid was less reflective than those we'd previously seen, and the rock's texture looked softer than usual. I slowed the mount, my instinct on alert.

We rode alongside the rock and puddle, then stopped. This close, details were clear. A large animal, its body crushed and deformed beyond identification, lay in a pool of darkened blood. The creature's head was missing, and some of its insides were pouring out from what remained of its body. The blood had lost its shine, but hadn't yet dried up. This was a fresh kill.

Umaro! He'd done this, gone out hunting and caught himself a meal. Beyond the carcass and pool were more spurts of blood, along with scattered organ pieces. The small trail led west, just like our chosen route.

"That's him!" I gestured at the dismembered prey. "He was here, and might be someplace near." I commanded our mount forward with even more purpose. We pushed westward again, faster this time, intent on locating Umaro before he slipped away.

"Kupo! Look!" It was Mog's turn to see the trail. This section of the gorge had lower cliff sides than the rest, and their slope was at less of an angle. A lone tree had been snapped, its trunk twisted into a mass of splinters. The trees around it were untouched. Umaro's brute strength would account for such narrow yet severe damage. I steered the chocobo up to the broken tree trunk for a closer look. The trail continued, literally. The dead leaves, needles, and sporadic snow had all been pushed aside, producing a line some six inches thick. It led back into the woods. "He broke the tree, and let it drag," stated Mog with growing enthusiasm. I spurred the mount on before he could even ask.

We followed the trail through the woods and down to a small lake in a clearing. A large white object sat near the edge of the water, a wedge with the texture of thick fur.

I stopped the chocobo, to avoid spooking it if we got too close. "That's him. His back's to us." I glanced at Mog. He looked tense, but determined. We got off the chocobo, and I tied its reigns to a smaller tree limb nearby.

"So who calls out? You, or me?" Mog eyed the white mass of fluff at the lakeside.

"I'll greet, but we approach together." Mog and I walked through the trees to the clearing. A loud banging sound became audible, as if the yeti was banging rocks together. "Umaro. It's me Terra. I'm so glad we found you."

Slowly, the hulking white mass rose. White-furred limbs became visible as the yeti stood up. Then, he turned slowly, dropping the objects he carried. One was a stone, the other a large animal shell. He stood there, silent and motionless.

"Umaro, it's me. Mog. I want to talk with you." The moogle took a few steps toward the yeti. "I _need_ to speak with you."

"M-mmmm-Mog." The name escaped Umaro's mouth slower then usual. The white furry behemoth lumbered forward.

"Kupo. Yes, Mog. I have to talk with you. It's about what I did." The moogle inhaled deeply, and I knew his next words. "I'm sorry Umaro. It was all my fault. You did nothing wrong. I gave you the wrong tools for the job and accused you of slacking off. You worked hard with improper resources, which I provided you, and failed to get the job done because I got too presumptuous. I didn't question my own methods. I apologize Umaro. Again, I'm greatly sorry for what I did to you."

The words had been spoken. We held our breaths, awaiting Umaro's response. Did he understand at all? Was he slowly digesting what Mog had said? He was slow to react.

"You sorry," Umaro said at last. "You at fault." He took another step towards Mog."

"Yes, I'm extremely sorry for blaming and punishing you." Mog beckoned. "Come back to Narshe with us. The mine really need you."

"You sorry," the Sasquatch repeated. "No. You lie."

I feared this, feared the bridge was so burned that Mog's honest apology would fall on deaf ears. I was here to give extra support, and it was much needed. "No, he means it. Every word." I stepped up alongside the moogle. "He's really sorry Umaro. I can promise that. He stands here because I convinced him to seek you out and give you his word."

Umaro flashed his short, pointed teeth, complete with drool hanging off the tips. "Liar. Mog have liars by him. Mog have lies to making him look good." His voice took on a growl in its tone. "Liars no good. Liars no trusted. Liars bad." Umaro's hands became fists that beat upon his chest.

"Umaro listen. He's sorry for hurting you all that time and wants to make it up," I tried again. I'd seen this chest-beating once before, when our party removed a magicite stone from the eye in one of Umaro's bone carvings. He introduced himself to us, with his primitive territorial instincts.

"Terra, he's getting angry. I've never seen him like this." Mog spoke fast. Unease was taking him over. "It's not a territorial behavior. There's something more to it."

I shared his alarm. "I hear it too, but I can't put my finger on it." Regardless, something was wrong. It made a little sense for Umaro to be angry, but this was more than anger.

"Liar. Control freak who use and abuse. You bad. You not get away with bad." Umaro's broken speech got more edgy with each word. "You PAY!"

"Those words!" I noted. "Since when did Umaro get so articulate? Even with the grammar breaks, he's well-spoken for a creature of his intellect."

"Kupo? Umaro, why are you talking like that?" Mog's voice was a mess of both panic and confusion. "Ku...po...Terra look! His bracelet!"

I'd not noticed until Mog called it out. A thick rope circled Umaro's wrist, and from that rope hung a glowing light blue sphere.

Umaro's blizzard orb.

Tiny glowing stars flashed around the yeti's favored relic. "What's happening?" But even as those words escaped my lips, the rational side of me provided the answer.

It was no surprise that waling breezes filled the area. It suddenly got much colder than it was a moment before. More flashes of transparent white and faded blue appeared, whirling around the blizzard orb in a miniature funnel cloud. "Umaro! Stop this!" Mog's voice had gone from apologetic to desperate.

It grew colder. The wind blew louder. The blue and white flashes expanded, engulfing us before I could even comprehend the temperature change. "It's no use Mog. He's not listening. Let's get out of here." I grabbed Mog's arm, prepared to flee the yeti's blizzard technique. Umaro didn't move all that fast. We could outrun him easily. It was our best chance.

What had come over him? Maybe doubting Mog's apology was expected, but not this. This was different. This was vindictive. Had Mog burnt the bridge so much that Umaro felt compelled to get even like this.

Answers would have to wait. Mog and I had to escape this micro-storm. The moogle didn't argue. We turned and ran for the woods. Then, a strong wind blew us both off our feet. I landed on the hard rock below, yet the cramps barely registered as the wind chill grew yet again. I could feel snow bits pelting my face, like hailstones. "You no get away. Liars and control freak unfit for life." Umaro's blizzard surrounded us now, and his fragmented speech said it all.

He planned on freezing us to death in the ice storm!

I tried standing, but the wind knocked me down once more. I could no longer see more than ten feet in any direction. All I could see was Mog, Umaro, and the swirling vortex of ice and wind. The blizzard orb shined its brightest, and the storm's ferocity matched the glow. The Sasquatch loomed upon us, laughing.


End file.
